Entanglement
by celestial-insanity
Summary: It's a suicide mission, so who better to run it than the badass who beat them before? But first he'll need a team and their trust before he can even think about attempting an attack on the most technologically advanced race in the galaxy--the Collectors.
1. The Lazarus Project

_It looks bad, but I'm positive we'll be able to do with what's given to us. They've installed steel clamps on the broken bones that feed continuous medi-gel into his system, but we're slaving over a body. Facial reconstruction will be required, and the Illusive Man wishes to upgrade his biotic amps with the best possible without over-taxing his system. We'll be drawing on all of our knowledge from the Ascension Project, I'm sure of it. That is, if we can even get his heart beating. Wilson wants to place an electrode-simulator on the heart to keep a steady beat, but all that would do is weaken the cell walls and give free access to every metal-born infection out there. Well, at least we aren't slaving over a quarian. We're still hypothesizing and eventually I'll have to put my foot down. He's locked in cryo-stasis until we can figure something. Even so, this project could take a year or more if we have something solid to go on. But we won't fail._

**Project Log 1, Miranda Lawson, ENCRYPT PASPRO**

**The Lazarus Project - 2 years and 12 days after the **_**Normandy's **_**destruction. **

_Wake up, Commander._

Nice try, Alenko, but I'm pretty tired. I was warm, but not necessarily comfortable. My head hurt, a migraine maybe, and I felt nauseous and feverish. Surely Kaiden could understand that the great Commander Shepard didn't exactly want to run around and save the galaxy today.

Kaiden's face bloomed in front of my eyes, fading away as quickly as he came. I didn't recognize the expression on his face, but I was drawn to it. _Shepard. . . _

Kaiden, really, go away. I need to sleep. You're making me feel worse. But he wouldn't leave me alone, and he kept pestering me. Why couldn't he just say 'aye, aye,' get Chakwas, and have her take care of my fever? God, I was _hot._ I was sweating, and I knew it. Strange, I couldn't remember ever having a fever such as this before. Maybe I should wake up, see if we're near Eden Prime yet.

Kaiden gripped my shoulder, intently looking at me. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Instead, I heard the meaning in my mind, and suddenly the weight of the galaxy was crushing on my chest. _I don't regret a thing, Commander._

Kaiden!

I jerked around in the fever that was my prison, coming back to reality with giant, gulping breaths that seemed to expand that weight in my chest. "My God, he's waking up!" A man, more real than the fever-dreams, hovered at my face. Middle-aged and balding, he wore Alliance-issue military fatigues. Right then I didn't care about the military or anything about it–I needed to save Kaiden.

Bombs exploded in my head, drowning out the sound of a woman, human by the sound of her. I continued to pant, pain racking every part of my body from my head to my toes, and watched events fly past my eyes both startling slow and frighteningly fast. Kaiden died, my fault, my damn fault, and the Council. . . Rage in my chest as I remembered Udina, setting course for Ilos, the feel of Ashley's skin against my own, and the attack. Sovereign.

Reapers.

I tried to howl in pain as the rubble crushed my leg–I could _feel_ it, like it was actually happening–and all that came out was a strangled gasp. A month passed me by quickly, anger accompanying the many Council meetings and daily medications, and the _Normandy_ became the focus again. _Hi, Commander,_ Joker says darkly, powering up the engines. _He's just mad at the Council,_ Pressly explains when I ask. _I am, too. This is stupid._

And then I watched as my life dwindled to nothing. I closed my eyes.

* * *

&.

**(Miranda)**

"Stats are back to normal," Wilson reported from his station, throwing glances back at Shepard like he just needed to _make sure_ he was really knocked out and not faking. I felt my heart beginning to slow and beat its normal rhythm, the adrenaline leaving my fingers shaking as I double-checked the monitors showing his neural scans and brain waves. "That was too close."

"Very," I confirmed, my jaw working. The scans were falling back into the previous pattern, all signs of the sudden spike wiped from the screen. "We nearly lost him."

"He's alive, though," Wilson said, turning back to his station, ill-disguised glee in his voice. "He woke up, that's something!"

I felt a brief flair of irritation and bit out, "And nearly died from it. What went wrong? Did you screw up the dosages?" Before he could answer I had crossed over and I was reading the charts over his shoulder. He bristled, but I could care less. That one moment had nearly cost me two years of my effort, and there was no way in the world I'd let this small, insignificant man take that away from me. I found what I was looking for, and frowned. "His immune system is working through the meds faster than I'd anticipated. . . we'll have to lower that, somehow, before the white bloodcells begin to make a problem."

"Leukemia isn't going to be an issue," he said smoothly, adjusting a schematic on his omni-tool. "The medi-gel regulating through his system automatically keeps things in check. I wrote the program, remember?"

"How could I not?" Wilson's 'program' was part of the bio-synthetic scheme I'd accepted a year ago. No matter how annoyingly persistent the man was, he was the best medical technician around. He'd introduced a micro-chip into her aortic valve, which regulated the flow of all blood cells and made adjustments when necessary. It had four basic tasks when it detected an anomaly: kill a percentage of white blood cells or red blood cells if there were too much of either of them, introduce clones of white or red where there is a lacking, send waves of medi-gel and antibiotics (recyclable) to an open-wound cut, and alert both Wilson and I if any of these were undertaken, the parameters involved, and if it was resolved. Brilliant, but it could be faulty at times. Wilson just liked to believe he was playing God, and I liked to think I was tempering that side of him. "But the fact of the matter is that his immune system is burning through our medications. What happens when it has nothing left to fight?"

"Relax, I've got it under control–"

I gripped his shoulder. Hard. "This isn't a game. Shepard nearly died. Run the numbers again."

He glared at me, chewing on whatever snappish reply he was about to make, and decided that he valued his life over pride. He turned back to his omni-tool and entered a new parameter. He read the lines for a moment, still chewing, and turned the orange holo off with a click of his middle finger to his palm. "I'll fix that right away," he said, not meeting my eyes.

"Good." I squeezed his shoulder one last time and returned to my own station. "Foreword me your results and I'll set the machine to give him an extra dose every hour."

"Yeah, gotcha."

I spent the remainder of my shift alternating between finding a good immuno-suppressant and watching Shepard's monitors. He was deep in REM sleep, which was satisfying; he would need all the sleep as humanly possible if he wished to heal. Facial reconstruction had been needed a few days previously when he began to breath on his own, and the previous scar that had dominated his face had been wiped away clean by the new folds of healthy skin. We hadn't finished with that part, however–time and necessity had stalled the remainder of the surgery, so tiny cracks where his old scar used to be now seemed to glow with a soft orange light.

I was elated, though I was careful not to show it in case things went wrong. Only a week ago his heart began to beat, three days ago he began to breath, and today he was waking up. All of those years, all of that time spent slaving over his body, they were beginning to _pay off_ in a good way. The Illusive Man was impressed when I gave him my report, a slight smile to his features that gave me a feeling of bitter satisfaction. It was as much his achievement as mine, and we had really, really done the impossible.

Not only did we bring a soldier back to life, we brought back the best.

I left after Wilson's shift ended and joined Jacob for lunch to give him a status update. Normally I took my meals in my office instead of the general mess hall, but today seemed like the day for out of the ordinary events. He raised his brows a bit when I took my seat, oblivious to the sudden consternation among his normal group. "Well, well, Miss Lawson, here's a surprise."

"I told you I'd keep you updated," I said, adding some salt to the french fries on my plate. "Shepard woke up," I told him in a voice low enough not to carry. He blinked and whistled in amazement, but before he could ask his questions I told him what happened on a layman's scale and the progress that had been made that week. As I spoke, he waved for his men to find another table. They retreated, glancing back curiously, and soon we were left alone. "I assume you're prepared for every eventuality?"

"Of course," he said confidently. Jacob Taylor was of African descent, tall and well-built, and had a low, calming deep-timbre voice that was just as capable of shouting at gunnery sergeants as it was to calm a frightened bystander. I liked his morals, though I'd never admit it to him. He was as honest as a being could be, and I respected that. "Want me to be there when you're ready to wake him up for good?"

I knew why he'd ask that–he was former Alliance, and he knew just as well as I did the calming effect he had on people. Since he and I were meant to travel with Shepard when he woke it would only be fair for him to be introduced as early as possible. "Yes, I would like that, actually. We don't know if he'll be mentally sound when he wakes, so it could probably take a few days to make sure he's exactly as we got him."

"Besides 'dead' you mean," Jacob said knowingly, lathering ketchup on to his hamburger. He hadn't taken a bite until then, a testament to how riveted he'd been. He took a mouthful, chewed, and gave a big swallow. "I know I already told you before–" he paused to smother a burp with his hand "–but nobody's supposed to come back from the dead. We just disproved every religion out there with this, y'know. And Shepard, he's a believer. How will we explain that the grassy green hills of Heaven are actually Cerberus-issued, huh?"

"I'll figure something out," I promised. I had to. I knew Shepard more intimately than any other living person in the galaxy–the past two years were devoted to him and only to him, mapping out mental capacities, fighting styles, what made him move the way he did. Having such a thorough understanding of one's life gives you power, but if you weren't careful that power could give you overconfidence. I had to take one step at a time, evaluate him as necessary, work out the kinks.

Jacob left earlier than he normally would have, clearing his tray and setting off for target practice in B-Wing. I let him go, pondering over a french fry, and twirled it around in my mouth as I did so. Finally I ate it, aware of the more than usual preoccupation with me as I cleared my own tray and went the opposite way to my office in D-Wing. Wilson, who was just walking out, didn't even pause to look at me as he frowned over a new technical readout. I didn't recognize the data processing streams, and it occurred to me later that perhaps I should have looked closer.

I took a seat in my chair and shook the mouse to open up the computer screen. I typed in my password–a mix of numbers, letters, and a single Greek character–and spoke my name into the microphone. I hadn't received Wilson's report yet and felt frustrated with his lack of proper conduct. I immediately sent him an email, kindly reminding him–by my standards–about his duty, then logged on to another secure account to make sure nothing interesting had popped up.

The Lazarus Project, named after Lazarus of Bethany whom Jesus restored life to four days after his death, had one specific aim–bring Commander Valar Shepard back to life.

_Well, we've done it,_ I thought, an unusual feeling gripping my chest.. _Two years. . . time well spent. _

I contemplated the screen for a whole hour, my mind flying over the time spent in the space station in a rare moment of reflection, when I heard the first of the base's alarms go off.

It started as a high-pitched alarm and slid down the range of notes in a perfect glissando, the signal for a severe breach in security. I groped underneath the desk and grabbed the weapon stuck beneath it even as I keyed to Jacob's channel with the other hand. Electric fuzz met my ears and I cursed. Keeping the gun in reach I keyed into all major camera channels and scanned for trouble, starting with Shepard's room.

The doctors on duty–Cecil, Golden, Hawthorn–were barricading the entrance to the medical room with an assortment of desks, chairs, and tables. A security guard I didn't recognize was covering them, taking potshots at the security mechs coming down the stairs. I felt my stomach ice in response and made to stand and kill them all when my brain took over.

Cecil, Golden, and Darring were good, loyal men. Cecil was the most likely to turn traitor, but there were no motives for his doing so. It made me stop and think, and I wondered. . .

I keyed in the code for the mess hall I'd just vacated. The picture on the screen was brutal–somebody had hacked security and overridden the mechs' IFF commands. They cut down the screaming doctors, technicians, and security personnel with deadly precision, unaware that they'd been hacked, unaware that they were gunning down the people they'd worked for–

I checked the hallway cameras and, realizing nobody was going to run for it, I sealed the doors with an overriding command that would keep it locked as tightly as an airlock. I forwarded a priority distress call to the Illusive Man and went back to the camera in Shepard's room. It felt like a betrayal, not checking up on Jacob, but he could handle himself.

Golden had sealed the door leading into Shepard's room and I hastened to add an extra layer of security in case the mechs broke through. The guard was long dead, laying limp in a pool of his own blood while Darring worked on his body and Cecil took his place. The doctor was a horrible shot, but occasionally he hit, and he was doing much better than his comrade. Darring had always struck me as a bit unhinged, but the way he was working over the guard's dead body spoke in more volumes than a few simple interviews ever could.

The mechs broke through and slaughtered them all, laying round after round into their fleshy bodies until they were more certainly _dead._ I watched, on the edge of my seat, as they studied the closed door leading into Shepard's room. . . and turned away.

I breathed a sigh of relief. The room was uncharted on their systems, something I'd been sure not to let slip to anybody, and a failsafe in the system prevented them from entering past the first door. Apparently whoever had hacked them hadn't counted on that. I watched them leave and brought up a technical screen mimicking the one in the medical station. With a twitch of a finger I stopped the flow of the sedative and administered the neural stimulant.

The effect was almost immediate. Shepard stirred in his sleep, his large hands curling into fists at his sides. Hoping beyond hope there was some way to salvage the situation, I activated the intercom. "Commander Shepard, you must wake up," I said loudly into the microphone. "This facility is under attack."

Shepard jerked once, his lips forming a word I couldn't hear over the connection, and opened one brilliant green eye.

_He's alive._

He began to sit up, clutching his chest with one hand, and began to pull the wires out of his arms, his legs, and took off the electrodes taped to his head with a mean brutality. He was completely bald and clean-shaven, a necessity, and I hoped his hair would grow back soon. It wasn't how I'd wanted to wake him up, but there was no choice. I had to get him out.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked–and his hand immediately shot up to massage his jaw.

"There's no time," I spoke, throwing a quick look at the doors. "Somebody's hacked security to try and kill you. There's a storage locker in the corner of the room to your right."

The room rocked with an explosion, the flickering lights swaying dangerously above my head. "Hurry up!" I yelled.

He might have been dead for two years, but he wasted no time in dithering about. He snapped on the custom N7 armor we'd acquired for him with the savage air of a man preparing for a suicide run. "The _Normandy_ was destroyed," he said, slipping on his armored gauntlets. "Who made it out?"

"I'll tell you everything, but you need to hurry," I implored. I could hear gunfire in the distance–the mechs were getting closer. I gripped my weapon, reassuring myself that I could fight my way out if need be.

He cursed under his breath as he observed the gun. "I don't have a heat sink," he stated. He ran his hand over his head, a habit I'd learned about from old emails sent between his mother and a neighbor when he was in eighth grade and living on Elysium. His fingers stopped for a moment and probed at the place where his hair should have been, and he closed the locked to get a good look at himself in the reflection. He was still for a second, then said, "I still don't have a heat sink."

"We'll find you one." I opened one of the doors leading out into a small square room. If the doctors had taken cover there, they might have survived until help arrived. I felt nothing for their loss except for a strange detachment. The Illusive Man had, after all, spent a ton of money to bring them in o the Lazarus Project. Shepard walked out and picked up a heat sink that must have dropped from the guard's belt when he fell. He slammed it into the butt of his pistil and signaled he was ready to move on. I opened the next door. He took cover at the barricade, glancing at the dead bodies. "They tried to protect you," I explained. "Head up those stairs to your right, I'm going to take you to the transportation hub."

Despite security procedure, the hacker must have decided to leave a surprise for anybody willing to rescue the good Commander. The lone LOKI mech was curled up in its default position, looking for all intents and purposes like a canister, and as soon as Shepard took a leap over the barrier (I felt a triumphant grin cross my face) it unfolded itself and opened fire. Shepard was obviously still not feeling it–he would have a high fever, a headache, and other flu-like symptoms–but he could still aim. It's head exploded with a well-placed shot to its' optics.

After checking around some more, he cautiously made his way up the stairs, stooping to pick up another heatsink. "Are you the same woman who was with me when I woke up earlier?" he asked, checking over his shoulder.

"Yes," I confirmed, barely even paying attention to his queries as I checked the surrounding rooms for ambushes. "My name is Miranda. Go through that door and take cover by the garden, our friend left a few surprises."

"Copy that." Shepard entered the main office and ran for the central garden, pressing his back against the cool metal wall. "Sounds like they're powering up. . ."

I couldn't hear anything over the intercom, but I wasn't surprised. We'd upgraded him with sensory enhancement packages, after all. He popped out of cover to deliver a few well-placed shots at the security mechs beginning to pile up on the landing. I gripped the butt of the gun hard as I watched. If anything went wrong–

He popped out of cover to deal with the last one, his clips spent. A slight disturbance in the air, like a heat wave, was the only warning. The mech was thrown across the room, hitting the wall hard enough to shatter its chassis. It crumpled to the ground like a fly after you've swatted it, its' optical sensors no longer flashing. Shepard collapsed back under cover, breathing hard. "Good job," I told him, trying to get him moving. "You'll need to go out the door they come in from. Are you okay?"

"Just. . . a bit tired," he said, rubbing his bald head again. After a few short minutes he seemed to regain his strength and began to collect clips. "Are there any survivors I should look for?"

"No," I said at once, though I recognized the intent behind the question. "None of your crew members from the _Normandy_ are at this facility."

"I notice you're not saying 'hospital.'"

Another explosion made further comments null and void. Shepard gripped a rail for support and hurried up the stairs. He arrived on a small balcony overlooking the fuel chambers and another door on the bottom level. I made him take cover and wait as I checked all of the other cameras, then said, "A group of mechs are inbound to your position. The floorboard your standing on is a trap door, housing a grenade launcher. Take it. With one well-placed shot you might get them all before they start shooting back."

Shepard said nothing and retrieved the grenade launcher. I unlocked the seals on the door, conscious of the sudden probe into my communications. The hacker, whoever they were, knew what they were doing.

_If he gets to me, I'll have to give Shepard the best possible chance to get out._ I kept an eye on him, following the grenade's trajectory as it arced through the air, landing in the middle and slightly to the right of the approaching mechs. I tried not to wince as rounds thudded into his shields just before the group was encased in a slathering inferno. There was a sudden hiss of escaping gas from one of the fuel tanks beside the fire, and I knew I had only seconds. "Get to the elevator!" I yelled.

Shepard took the elevator, placing the grenade launcher in a holder on his back, and paused as he considered the line of fire in front of him. "No time for fire extinguishers, just run for it!" I growled.

He took a deep breath–I could see his shoulders move–and sprinted for the open door. I sealed it shut behind him, and not a second too soon. Over the intercom I heard a colossal explosion, and two o my cameras went dark. "Good job. Now just keep continuing upwards–oh–_shit!_"

The doors behind me were starting to smoulder with heat as the security mechs began to cut through. I got out of my chair, taking cover behind my desk. "Shepard, you have to–dammit, get to the hub! East of your position, follow the signs–_and don't die!_"

My last words were accentuated by the deep explosion of a YMR Heavy crashing through the doorway, using its mass and superior firepower to take the door off of its hinges. In the brief commotion that followed I overloaded my computer with a wave of my omni-tool, deleting my data and crashing the system irrepairably.

"I'm not done yet," I whispered. Another wave of my hand overloaded its shields. Blue electric currants ran across its body as it made up for the sudden loss. They might have been huge constructs of security design, but they were incredibly weak as you tore down their defenses. It spotted me then and opened fire with its large, machine-gun arm. I dove to the side and pressed my hand against one of the inconspicious buttons on either side of my desk. "Burn!"

The keyword and DNA confirmed, the turrets built into the wall activated. The mech, torn between four different threats, focused on the human one. It stumbled to the side as the force of the turrets' combined firepower pushed it back, and I reached out with one hand to slam a biotic force against its armor, weakening and crippling it with a single blow. It fell to the ground in a heap, beeping almost inaudibly, and I huddled as close to my desk as I dared for protection.

"Lethal fire authorized." I could hear a mech group approaching my office only to get gunned down by the turrets. Those who survived the initial blasts didn't soon after, however–the YMR heavy exploded in a last, desperate security measure. Large pieces of shrapnel threw themselves against the wall, disintegrating on impact. At last, all was silent.

I blew out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and tried to open another communications channel. "Blocked," I muttered in dismay, biting my lip as I tried to find another rerouter. When the search came up with nothing, I checked for a wireless interface close by. All omni-tools had them, and if there was somebody still alive out there it might help me narrow down the traitor.

A signal was broadcasting from A-Wing, where Shepard was. It was registered to Wilson. I tilted my head a little to the side as I considered this, then decided I wasn't surprised. I'd been looking for a chance to fire him since he'd arrived, and now it just looked like I'd have to do it in a more terminal fashion.

There was no room for foolishness. I composed a brief message to the Illusive Man and set it to send whenever my omni-tool came within range of a wi-fi outpost. I touched my middle finger to my palm to close it and proceeded down the hallway, my gun held out in front of me to take care of any strays.

The Lazarus Project, like any other Cerberus outpost, had a few backups in order. In alternating distances a steel pillar on either side of the hallways would jut out, giving just enough cover for a fire team to enter as necessary. Likewise, the garden I'd told Shepard to hide behind earlier was more than just simple convenience. As far as I knew, actually, I was the only one besides Jacob who knew about all of the enhancements, such as the unmapped room of Shepard's, or the turrets installed in my office. We had a _lot_ of security mechs, though. If there was some way to override their commands, it would be at the main hub.

No time to go there–I just had to make it to the hanger, then double back along Shepard's intended path to fetch him if he hadn't made it yet.

And on the way, I'd keep a look out for Wilson. He was dead, he just didn't know it yet. _And Jacob, too. He'd stay to look for you._

And I'd keep a look out for him, too, of course. Ice Queen I may be, I cared about some of the subjects under my rule.

Through the end of the hallway a fork leading to two separate areas of the station presented itself. Unwilling to take the elevator I squatted down and removed the cover from the ground behind the second-to-last pillar, revealing a small stairway lit with emergancy lights. Like Shepard's room, they didn't show up on the schematics. I made sure to replace the flooring and continued on my way down, alert for any sign of trouble even in this safe haven.

The stairway led to a smaller hallway about half the width of a krogan, lit only by small lights set into the walls that glowed softly as I walked by. The underground tunnels ran the entire length of the station, programmed against electronic interference, but there was always a chance Wilson poked around enough to know about it–God, I'd seen him going at it more than once. He'd been a duct rat on the Citadel when he was younger, one of those children who went crawling around in the ventilation shafts to hide from adults and security who could put them in their place, and that nature of poking and prodding never really left.

But for now it was the only option I could think of that stopped me from becoming cannon fodder for the rest of the security mechs he'd no doubt sent to take me out. D-Wing was probably swarming with them. He didn't underestimate me, and I'd finally stopped underestimating him. And if he managed to kill Shepard I'd shoot his testicles and bring him to the Illusive Man myself. The Commander probably wasn't even up to the task of shooting a few drones without getting himself shot up, which made my mission all the more pressing.

I took a roundabout route to the transportation bay, setting proximity mines for anything containing ample enough metal. It wouldn't stop a human, but if a mech even went an inch within the danger zone an electric overload big enough to drop a krogan warlord would bring it down. It was only a one-time usage, though, so that's why I covered my tracks.

People might have thought me weird for carrying around technical proximity mines and a gun for over two years, but that was called being prepared. If you weren't, you nearly deserved to die.

One of the tunnels branched off into a maintenance passageway behind the dropship, but you had to walk up stairs so steep it was more like climbing than walking. Using both hands, like a dog one would say, I climbed the rest of the way. The entire process took me about five minutes, and at the end I was beginning to lose a bit of my breath.

The drop shuttle, the only transportation to and from the base, remained untouched on the landing platform. A quick once-over revealed no bombs or tampering of any kind, which was unsurprising. Wilson, after all, wouldn't want to compromise his only way off of the station.

_My, my, for such a mercenary you are very stupid._

I stepped into the elevator that would bring me to the ground level where I could complete my search for Jacob, Shepard, and Wilson, my weapon still gripped in my gloved hand. The door opened, and Wilson and I looked at each other in grim shock. "Miranda?" he sputtered. "But you were–" I reacted first, leveling the gun with his neck, and fired. He dropped to the ground in a limp pile of unresponsive limbs. _And nobody is going to bring _you _back to life, bastard._

"Dead?" I asked.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jacob demanded, running over to catch up.

"My job," I stated. "Wilson betrayed us all."

Commander Shepard turned his pistil on me, steady and sure. "Even if you were sure, did he reall deserve that welcome?"

"I did my job," I retorted. "Wilson sabotaged our security systems, killed my staff, and tried to kill us in the process."

"You sure about that, Miranda?" Jacob asked. "We've known Wilson for years. What if you're wrong?"

"I'm never wrong. I would have thought you'd learned that by now, Jacob."

"You killed him," Shepard accused. He didn't lower his gun. "You could have taken him in for questioning if you were so sure."

"He would've killed us if he had enough brainpower to remember he had a gun," I said, crossing my arms. "He probably thought he was getting off easy. Get the ship and kill you two when you're looking the other way. Luckily, I got here first." I glanced down at his body, noting the gunshot wound on his leg. A slather of medi-gel clamped tightly to the wound, but the angle was all wrong. To a casual observer it'd look as though he was killed by a taller man than himself at a high angle, but I'm anything but casual. "Probably a little too soon for Wilson. Besides, I spent too long trying to bring you back to life to get you killed now."

"You really think Wilson's capable of that?" Jacob demanded.

I smirked. "Not any more."

Shepard and I both locked eyes for one, tense moment, and Shepard finally relaxed. "Yeah, I had the feeling he was looking for a chance to shoot me in the back."

"Good instincts," I said, then motioned to the elevator. We piled in, and Jacob pressed the lift button. "Most people are too oblivious to see it coming. I suppose you wish to know where we're going?"

"I already know you work for Cerberus," Shepard said, surprising me.

"But how could you?" I asked. "Unless. . . ah, Jacob, your conscience got the better of you."

"It was getting pretty tense," he said by way of explanation, shrugging. He turned to Shepard and said, "I know you don't trust Cerberus, but the Illusive Man spent a fortune to bring you back." The elevator door opened and they boarded the shuttle. "And I don't think lying to you is the best way to get you to join our cause."

Shepard's eyebrows twitched in response, but he nodded. "Alright. Take me to this Man of yours, and we'll see how it goes."

"You'll see our side before long, Commander," I said, keying in our destination.

"I want to know what happened to my crew," Shepard said, taking a seat as the ship began it's ascent.

"Navigator Pressly didn't make it," I said, sitting down across from him. As soon as we were in space my transmission to the Illusive Man cleared, so I sent a further message saying we were en route to a neighboring facility. "As well as a few crewmen from the lower decks."

"Ashley?"

"Survived. I don't know exactly what everybody is doing by now, but as far as I know she's stayed with the Alliance." He nodded, accepting this. We were all silent as the shuttle took off, leaving the facility behind. Jacob and Shepard glanced out the window to watch it disappear in the distance and I began to tinker with my omni-tool. "Now, Shepard, it's time to ask you some questions and evaluate your condition."

* * *

&.

**(Shepard)**

Miranda was doctor, all right. I _hated_ doctors ever since I was a kid. They signified death and needles, and in her case it was completely true. Chakwas was the only exception to the rule, but even being under her care gave me the creeps. There was no way to know what they were injecting you with, implanting you with, whatever, and Miranda had done some serious upgrades to my body without my consent. I felt like I had a horrible case of flu, complete with the fever and body aches to boot, and she knew that. Realizing that it wasn't going to get any better if I acted like a jerk towards the people who saved my life, I was just about to relent when Jacob said, "Come on, Miranda, more tests? Shepard took down a bunch of mechs without any trouble. That's got to be good enough."

"It's been two years since the attack," Miranda said. "The Illusive Man needs to know if Shepard's personality and memory are the same as before. Ask the questions."

"Wait," I said, a horrible truth beginning to sink in. "Did you say two years? Was I out that long?"

"Two years and twelve days," Jacob confirmed. "And you were on the operating table for the most of it." Miranda nodded.

"The sooner we start," she said, "the sooner we can get done." I bristled angrily, trying to acount for two year–_two years._ What the hell happened between then and now? Why couldn't I _remember?_ Wasn't there an afterlife, wasn't there. . . ? It felt like the world was spinning out of control, and I began to massage the brige of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. Ashley. . . I wanted Ashley. I wanted some kind of stability in all of this damn chaos. "Start with the personal history."

Jacob activated him omni-tool, not quite as oblivious to my distress as Miranda. "Okay. Records show you were a spacer kid. Grew up mostly on one ship or another. You enlisted on the fourth of April, your eighteenth birthday, and won the Star of Terra fighting batarians on Elysium during the Blitz. Do you remember that?"

I answered, even though I didn't feel like it. "A lot of lives depended on me holding that position. I did what I had to. I'd do it again."

"However you want to put it, it was damn impressive." Jacob tried to smile encouragingly. "I had friends who were there." An edge accompanied his voice when he turned to the doctor and asked, "Satisfied, Miranda?"

"Almost," she said, unperturbed. "Let's try something more recent. Virmire, where you destroyed Saren's cloning facility. You had to leave one of your squad behind to die in the blast."

"First Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko was KIA. It was your call. Why did you leave him behind?"

"I left a friend to die that day," I bit out. I refused to let myself remember the blast. "And I sure as hell didn't do it casually. But I had to save as many people as I could. Kaiden Alenko gave his life for the rest of the team, and he was a hero. Without him I would have never stopped Saren."

"I understand, Commander," Jacob was quick to respond, "and I wasn't judging your decision. Everybody that heard knows that cloning base had to be destroyed."

"Shepard, think back to the Citadel," Miranda implored. "After the Alliance saved the Destiny Ascension, and you killed Saren. What happened next?"

"Humanity was offered a spot on the Council. I recommended Captain Anderson."

"Yes," Miranda confirmed. "_Captain_ Anderson is now Counsilor Anderson. Though from what I hear, he preferred life in the military."

I couldn't help but snort under my breath. I'd been worried he'd develop a taste for punching politicians, but if he was still in it after two years then he must've realized that Udina was a one-time only type of thing. I'd seen the footage while I was in the hospital after the battle–apparently Garrus had used an old friend of his to get him the tapes. I couldn't remember ever laughing so hard.

"Still, good to know that the human council member isn't going to put politics ahead of defense," Jacob commented.

"Your memory seems solid," said Miranda, "but there are other tests we really should run–"

"Come on, Miranda, enough with the quizzes." Jacob was a nice, solid guy. I liked him. "The memories are there, and I can vouch for Shepard's fight skills personally."

"I suppose you're right," conceded Miranda. "The Illusive Man will just have to make due with our little field test as evidence enough."

They left me to rest, then, though there wasn't much space for a grown and armored man to lay down and stretch. Miranda was concerned about the fever and gave me some antibiotics to help fight it, but right then I just wanted to sleep. I didn't want to know the exact details of how they brought me back or what they intended to do with me just then–I was tired, and I needed a nap.

I don't even recall falling asleep, but it felt like such a short time later when Jacob woke me up saying, "Commander, we're here."

I blinked my eyes open, stifling a yawn, and scratched my head. Once again the lack of hair was disturbing enough to give me a start. I glanced out the window at the approaching facility, partly cautious and partly curious. I wondered what this Illusive Man wanted with me, but it had to be pretty damn important. I straightened up, popping out the kinks in my back, and disembarked with them. A medical team met us as we disembarked and ran scanners over my body without a single word. They muttered a few words to Miranda, who sighed and injected me with a shot she said was full of another dose of antibiotics.

Well, whatever the hell it was, it felt better. The medics retreated back to their terminals in another room and Miranda gestured for me to continue down the hall without them. "The Illusive Man is waiting for you, Commander Shepard."


	2. Stonewalled

"_We should have known Shepard would step in to save a _human_ colony."_

"_I don't need this."_

"_Damn, we must've lost the signal. You know how faulty wi-fi is in space. Out the window. Whew. Hey, did you bring back any souvenirs? Collectable items? Parfait?"_

"_Joker."_

"_Yeah, yeah, I know. They don't sell collectibles at ExoGeni."_

**Commander Shepard to the turian councilman and Jeff "Joker" Moreau after the destruction of the Thorian**

* * *

&.

**The Citadel, 2 years and 9 days ago (Ashley)**

Anderson probably thought he'd summoned me, but no matter what the official report said, I'd come back on my own accord. Why, I didn't know. Part of me was drawn back to a place of stability, a place I knew would be there for at least another fifty thousand years. Maybe another part was drawn back for simple sentimentality. And another part, deeper and buried even further down than the others, came back for simple, primal anger. A need for something to _get done. _Revenge.

Revenge wasn't part of the handbook at Basic. They tried to temper down those feelings with sparring, push-ups, whatever. I'd seen my fair share of people die over the years, perhaps more than any other Alliance soldier my age since I joined this damn mission. I killed colonists and innocents because geth turned them into cybernetic constructs, I'd gone after mercenaries, pirates, you name it. And being there, doing that, participating in something that much bigger than just yourself, it gets inside you. Changes you.

It sure as hell changed me. And in a few short moments I, presented with a chance to do my duty or stay with the man I loved, obeyed his last order even when God was saying, "You know, you might never see him again." I used to think it was just my gut telling me that stuff when we went into battle, you know, just nerves, but this time I felt it. It solidified in my gut just as the supports came down overhead and the escape pod launched.

I'll always remember that horrible, horrible hour. Joker only said the Commander didn't make it and shut down comms, and I remember being thankful I was suited up. I stopped my audio from processing to the outside world and started to cry. I'm not the weepy type, but I couldn't help but think. . .

It was _my fault._

If I hadn't gone away, if I'd insisted on getting Joker's crippled ass out, maybe we'd _both_ still be alive. We had a future, I _knew_ we did. I couldn't stop talking about him–girlish, I know–and my sisters were begging to meet him. After our patrol, I'd promised.

Abby had a knack of popping up when interesting things were concerned–she'd enlisted in the Alliance Navy herself, an officer, and she had _connections._ The first person I really remember seeing as our rescue ship, the _Kilimanjaro,_ docked in the station's areas was her, standing there with a grave look on her face. She came foreword, hugged the hell out of me, and took me to her apartment. I cried on her shoulder, sobbing my heart out for the man I could have saved, and she just patted me on the back, told me everything sucked right now but it'd be alright in the end, and told me to toughen up when the waterworks wouldn't stop.

The next day, now, I was sitting outside the Ambassador's office, tapping my fingers against my armor plates. Joker sat in his wheelchair across from me and facing the other end of the hallway, resting the side of his head against the wall; his right arm bore a dark blue bruise in the shape of a handprint. I had no words to comfort him, because it was partly his fault, too. I didn't have words for anybody.

I knew what I was going to do when I found the people that did it, though. It didn't even take much of a thought process to figure out a plan.

I'd already gotten a message from Wrex. He was a solid guy–I couldn't believe I'd been ready to kill him back on Virmire when Kaiden was the one who was going to snuff it. Shepard, Wrex, and I. . . Well, I already knew I loved Shepard when we got on the Citadel, but the fight to Saren, well, I don't know. Something clicked into place between the three of us. I actually hugged that lump of meat when he left for Tuchanka. To my surprise, he hugged me back. "It'll be different, not fighting with a female any more," he said in his slow, menacing voice. "See you, Williams."

"Wrex."

He left first, then Garrus. Joker used to laugh about how he had a stick up his ass, but I liked Garrus, too. He'd decided to reapply for C-Sec, and I wondered how long that would last. He was definitely Spectre material. I knew as well as he did that the red tape would get on his nerves. After being on the _Normandy_ I knew it'd get on mine, too. I was staying with Shepard, though, no matter what happened.

Liara and Tali were the only two that stayed. T'Soni claimed not to know what to do with herself, but Tali said that she was delaying her return to the flotilla as much as possible. Though she had enough data to become 'vas Neema' like she wanted, she wanted to stay on for a while to play with advanced technology before she went back, or so she said. She'd seen Adams die.

And Joker had seen Shepard die.

I couldn't _not_ be mad at him. If he'd just went to the pod, if he'd just stopped being _Joker_–no, I couldn't go down that way. Abby made it clear, and I couldn't disagree with her logic. If Shepard saw me now, he'd be disgusted. I didn't even bother to answer Sarah and Lynn's frequent emails. I'd talk later. Right now the only thing keeping me going was the promise that we'd find the bastards who took my future away.

The door opened and Udina came out, looking suitably harassed. We glanced up at his arrival, and I could see Anderson leaning against the wall on the opposite side. He motioned at us and I took Joker in. The door closed behind us.

Udina's office had been formally given to Anderson when he'd been elected as a representative, but Anderson kept the old bastard around for the political stuff. A new desk had been installed in the month following Saren's attack since Udina's had been destroyed, and he was putting it to good use. I wheeled Joker over and sat in a neighboring chair, crossing my legs and waiting for the verdict.

Anderson looked like he'd been through hell since I'd last seen him, and I got angry. I didn't want him looking all weak when he had to be strong for Shepard. "I know how hard things must be for both of you," he said by way of greeting, settling down into the chair behind his table. "I am so sorry."

Joker shrugged, glancing away over at the Presidium with an incomprehensible expression on his face. "Anything on the ship?" I asked, all business.

Anderson shook his head. "Nothing, not even a rumor. The scans from the _Normandy_ showed up mostly as unknowns, but I doubt it was a Reaper if they all looked like Sovereign did. No, this is something else. A pawn of the Reapers or not, the chance to find out died with the Commander."

"No, it didn't," I said, outraged. "Don't say that."

Anderson pursed his lips. "I'm not convinced that it's not the Reapers involving themselves somehow, but I have a theory. I think they attacked him specifically. Now that he's dead, I'm not stupid enough to believe they'll leave us alone. We'll have to work harder on this. With or without the Council's approval."

"Those sons of bitches said Sovereign was a geth and put us on the run that killed Shepard," Joker retorted, still looking away. I noticed that his eyes seemed a bit more glassy than normal. "So no, they _won't_ help us. And you–you can't _do_ anything, so don't pretend you can."

Anderson seemed to deflate before my eyes, and I realized just then how much Joker's opinion meant to him. "I know," he said quietly, "and I'm doing the best I can. It hasn't exactly been a smooth ride."

He shook his head. "Whatever." He waved his hand, the bruised one, at him. "Just do your politician stuff. Hell, get another human Spectre. I don't give a damn."

"Shepard felt worse when he killed Kaiden," I said, turning to look at the pilot. "He didn't let me see, because I was upset, but I could tell. We gotta. . ." Aw, _hell_, why did my throat have to start to seize up now? I swallowed the lump and continued on in a hoarse voice, "We gotta stay strong, you know? For him. For everybody. Just 'cos he's dead, it doesn't mean that we have to get up. And he _always_ used to lecture us on teamwork, staying together. We shouldn't fight."

Joker sighed heavily. "Yeah. Guess you're right. Where are you assigning us, Captain?"

"I don't have power over that," said Anderson in a low, heavy voice. "You're being transferred to Rear Admiral Mikhailovich's unit for the time being, and we'll see how it goes. Ashley, the brass says you can pick whatever station you want."

I should've been happy, but I wasn't. I just nodded and glanced over at my normal pilot. "I know I'm not Navy, but I'd like to stay with Joker."

Anderson was already shaking his head. "Marine units aren't normally stationed in Mikhailovich's crew, Chief. He doesn't run ground ops, just the sky. I'm sorry."

It was the first of several pieces of bad news that was forthcoming, and he didn't disappoint. He went on to say that Shepard's body hadn't been recovered from the wreckage, leaving the possibility that he was incinerated in a blast. The cold ball of ice in my stomach solidified into a lake, and whatever he said next couldn't change it. We learned more about Mikhailovich and his team, and it was the worst place to put somebody with Joker's skills. He was going to be grounded most of the time or stuck in deep space ferrying the Admiral to different ships.

They still didn't believe us about the Reapers, and that hurt a lot. When I asked, "How can we fight the Reapers if we're apart?" Anderson only looked sad and replied that the orders were _meant_ to keep us apart. He didn't have control over the military any more, and unless they were bullshit orders (I was sure this fell under that category) he couldn't rescind them. I was _angry_, more than I'd ever been before, and I was sure I could feel Shepard's eyes on us at this meeting, yelling at us to _do something._

_I died for nothing, Ash? Really?_

_I'm trying, skipper._

"O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done,  
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,  
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,  
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;  
But O heart! heart! heart!  
O the bleeding drops of red,  
Where on the deck my Captain lies,  
Fallen cold and dead."

I bowed my head as Anderson continued on, saying that talking about the Reapers right now would be foolishness. "But if you think you can convince somebody, do it," he urged. "I know this is hard, but I can't step in and save you if you get in trouble. The Council wants to make this go away, and Udina still has a few contacts in the military who are looking to root it all out. Mikhailovich is one of them, Joker, so be on your toes."

Joker's eyes closed.

"Now some believe _me_ just because I say it's true," Anderson continued, "but they'll want proof later on, and with the Council fronting the Sovereign investigation it'll turn up nothing, of course. So I need you to be–"

"Screw this shit," Joker muttered, wheeling himself backwards. He corrected his aim for the door. "I resign. Sorry, Ashley, but I can't take this BS anymore."

"I understand," I said quietly.

"Joker," Anderson said softly, "I'm sorry, too."

"Yeah, well. . ." he shrugged, then left.

Anderson pressed a button on his desk and the door closed with a soft hissing sound. He looked old and worn out. "I expected that," he said heavily. "I would've done the same thing if I were in his position. Are _you_ going to stay on, Chief Williams?"

I nodded, though I felt less like confirming that than ever. "I have to. This is my home, and I can't do anything on the outside that would help out. It's in my blood, anyway. And Abby would consider herself honor-bound to resign with me just to make sure I didn't get into any trouble, and I won't ruin her career for her."

"Abby is your sister, isn't she?"

"The weird one," I confirmed. "She's probably teaching some poor guy out there how to do a backbend properly in full armor. She's Gumbi, but she's cool. She's letting me stay at her apartment until. . . until I get things sorted out."

He studied my face carefully. "You loved him, didn't you?"

"Aye, aye."

"I saw the reports. You had nothing to be ashamed about. You did what he asked you to do, and if you didn't, you would have died on the ship along with him."

I nodded, keeping my mouth closed.

"I suppose meeting Hannah Shepard was a bit of a shock," he continued on. "I had no idea the _Kilimanjaro_ was that close. Of course she'd want to be near her son after nearly losing him on the Citadel, but–"

"That was his mother?" I asked sharply. Memories of the long, three-day ride home were beginning to take on a new perspective. XO Shepard had taken the debriefing and quizzed us about our personal relationship with the Commander. She was also the first one to notice her son and I had a thing going. "Oh, great. She never said."

"I'm sure she would've preferred you didn't know if she neglected to tell you," said Anderson calmly.

"I want to serve with her on the _Kilimanjaro_," I said, hardly aware of the words leaving my mouth. "They do ground ops, right? And a marine _always_ makes things safer. That's where I want to go."

Anderson nodded, unsurprised. "Then I'll foreword the orders to the Captain, and he'll get in touch with you before they leave."

I stood and offered a crisp salute. "Thank you, sir."

I had the feeling I was leaving Anderson in the middle of some kind of personal crisis, but he'd pull through. There was no time to be wallowing in self-pity when you have to take up the threat of the Reapers yourself. I'd never considered how Shepard must have felt, with the stonewalling, the politicians, and the disbelief. I'd always assumed he could get it under control, because he was _Shepard._ Right now I was starting to feel it, and it bolstered my respect even more for the dead guy.

And the best way to mourn him, right now, was to spread the word, find out about that damn Reaper-ship, and prepare for a war long in coming. I had no idea how I was going to do it, but I had four people convinced already–Hannah Shepard, Abby, Lynn, and Sarah. And nothing–_nothing_–could stop a Williams when she's got her mind made up.

Abby met me at the bottom of the stairs. She was wearing dark, military-issued armor and a sidearm. A large knife was strapped to her chest–she always had a thing for sharp, pointy objects–and partly covered by her crossed arms. Dark blonde hair was tied in a tight french braid against her skull, blue eyes looking out with a guarded expression at the restoration taking place around the Presidium. "How'd it go?" she asked cautiously. "Joker said it was a waste of time."

I nodded, my jaw working. "Basically the brass is separating the entire _Normandy _crew so we don't talk about Reapers, and they grounded Joker. He just resigned."

She winced, empathizing. "And you?"

"They're letting me take whatever position I want," I said bracingly. "Probably to make up for all that stigma about grandad." I told her about the rest of the meeting as we walked across the way to the Embassy bar, and as I concluded she ordered us two drinks and cropped a credit chip on the counter. "So what do you think?"

"I think Joker wouldn't have resigned unless he knew he had a better job waiting for him," said Abby, taking a sip of her drink. "We talked a bit while the Commander's leg was getting better. He'd never leave the Alliance if there was still a chance he could do some good."

I frowned and nodded. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. Still, though. . ." I waved a hand in the general direction of the offices. "Politicians. Anderson's going to come off worse for it. He's already playing the game."

"Just stick it out," she implored. "Alright?"

"Yeah. . . yeah, I suppose. It just feels so stupid, so _dumb_, to be letting the galaxy run around defenseless because some political jackasses won't listen to reason. Kaiden didn't die for that, and neither did Shepard!"

"I know," she said, "I really do. But Ash, you can still do some good here. Shepard made a ton of friends, didn't he? Use them." I gave her a look, and she ploughed on, saying, "The more people know, the better. Try Shiala, at Feros. And. . . Didn't Kahoku have a brother? And Garth. Dantius–"

"Wait, did you memorize _all_ of the mission reports?" I asked sharply.

"I have eidetic memory. Of course I did," she said smugly. "And you're going to need it, too! So–" she took a napkin from underneath her glass and procured a pen from a side-pocket in her armor "–I'll add those names down. Dantius sounds like a bimbo, though, so maybe you _shouldn't_ try her, just to be safe. Or maybe you should? Gah, I don't know. Shiala, Kahoku's brother, Garth. . . Chorban! You could talk to him, see what scans he's getting from the keepers! And Parasini from Noveria. Stay away from Emily Wong, though. She might or might not have good intentions, I didn't get a good reading–"

In addition to eidetic memory, Abby also had a keen sense of another's personality.

"–so don't use her. The asari on Thessia would probably flay you alive if you even _mentioned _Benezia. . . Tali is still here, isn't she? She can convince the Migrant Fleet, maybe. . . Hey, I'll see if I can _source_ a few items that might come in handy. I have a friend in Citadel Maitnence, and I'm sure he can get a few pieces of Sovereign from the Council Chambers for me. Actually, I think he already has some. I'll probably have to buy him that new video game if I want it, though. . ." She sighed, glancing around as if an idea would pop out and smack her in the face.

"Those are awesome ideas," I said, smiling at her enthusiasm. "Just give me the paper–"

"Hell no, I'm still writing. Give me a moment!"

She wrote down a few more names, muttered something about having to check the records again but they were probably sealed by now, and said, "Joker will try, too. I'll get in touch with him."

I raised an eyebrow. "You have his comm code?"

She shrugged. "Lynn and Sarah have probably told all of their best friends by now, too. And maybe you should look around for Shepard's family. I don't have the clearance for it, though. I know he got in contact with his mother a few months ago, Hannah Shepard. She was on. . ." Sudden understanding lit up her face. "Oh, okay. You have that covered, then."

"I appreciate the help," I said, tugging the paper gently but firmly out of her grip. I stowed it into my own pocket for safekeeping. "I'll get in touch with them–if I can. I'll have some downtime before I transfer to the _Kilimanjaro_, so. . ." I sighed. "Shiala first, then, but I doubt I'll be able to get her to convince the entire colony."

Abby nodded, taking another huge sip of the drink she'd ordered. She made a face and put the cup down. "Why do I _always_ order that?" she muttered.

I snorted. "Come on, let's go save the galaxy." I drank the rest of my drink and placed it on the counter.

I was sure Shepard had said something to that effect once or twice. I felt a small smile cross my face when I remembered the vid-mail Sarah sent, and he was listening in. . . I was sure he was listening in right now.


	3. Shadows and Quarians

Thank you all so much for your kind comments! I'm only experimenting with 1st person and I hope it doesn't sound too... weird. XD I hope you all are having a wonderful Super Bowl Sunday!

* * *

&.

"_Sovereign's going to have to be sitting on their roofs before they even think about believing you, Commander."_

"_Man, I just had a funny image of that. . ."_

**Joker and Kaiden to Commander Shepard following another unsuccessful Council meeting.**

**(Shepard)**

In J.R.R Tolkein's universe of Middle Earth, there were once the Valar. They were people of light sprung into being by the music of their father, born with gifts that surpassed any other on the world below them. They moved in harmony with the world around them, bringing peace and justice to Humans. Sometimes I had to wonder if my name–_Valar_–was either a play upon 'valor' or some kind of tribute to Tolkein's epic fantasy world. Dad insisted it was just because he liked the name, but that didn't stop me from nosing around during one of our many moves to find his entire collection of books. At the time I was annoyed because of all the attention it gave me at schools around the galaxy, but as time moved on I began to like my name, grow into it.

Besides, the girls liked the name-play. Mainly the smart, pretty ones who actually read the books.

Dad taught me a great deal before he died, and the main focus of the lessons were one thing–live up to your name. You don't lie, you don't steal, and you never, ever take a person for granted. Help the unfortunate, but don't rely on them to help you in return. Do your duty and be an example for the lesser people. And, when I joined the military, don't send other people to do what you're not willing to do yourself.

So far I tried to live up to my name. It was stupid and cliche, a storybook fantasy, but I've learned that, over time, your name is the only thing you can take with you. A human is nothing but a mixture of experiences wrapped into a physical body, but if you give that body a name, he suddenly has purpose and meaning, even if he's the only one that knows it. Even personalities are shaped solely by the experiences that made them so. Attach a name to a personality and _boom_, you get the idea.

A name fit the person it was given. I couldn't imagine Tali'Zorah having a name any other than her own, and I knew if she did something would have been significantly different–off. Wrex, also, couldn't have had the same effect on me if he was named Rambo or Chuck Norris. He'd be a scary son of a bitch, but the name wouldn't carry any weight. Also, I wasn't sure if Wrex even knew who they were, or cared.

I don't know why I'm dwelling on this. Maybe it's the fact that the Illusive Man has no name and his experiences are unknown. Probably. He's a shadow with no friends and a lot of push. To put it simply, every animal in the galaxy has an erratic fear of the dark unknown. We call the time when our mind leaves our body Death, and it's a name that helps quell that fear. We would be much, much more afraid if it had no name. It was there, unstoppable and relentless, and we couldn't do anything about it.

I won't go as far as to say that this Illusive Man reminds me of the Grim Reaper. Quite the contrary, to be precise. He has the power to take away lives in the advancement of humanity as a whole, and his methods are always brutal, extreme, and completely and irrevocably secret unless you happen to step into his experiments like I'd had the fortune of doing once or twice. But this man, this shadow, he had the strange power of bringing others back to life. Through wealth and resources he put me back together, piece by piece.

A man like that commands respect.

He had no name that I knew of and his background was unknown. I knew why he was given the name immediately–illusive was synonyms with 'unreal' after all.

Negotiating with a shadow was going to be, to say the least, different indeed.

* * *

&.

The shadow was smoking a cigarette, silhouetted by a backdrop of an intense red-hot ball of fire ringed with blue in the viewscreen. The dying star, for that was what it was, erupted and bubbled as I watched. This, I thought, was the best place for a being of the Illusive Man's power to preside over the affairs of the little people. I had little idea if he was aboard a ship or sitting comfortably in an office back on Earth with live footage playing like a fancy wallpaper, but the effect was nice. The man who controls life and death watching a life-giver wither and die, something that had been impossible before the mass relays were found.

I'm not a guy to be intimidated, not even by this. I kept my back straight, standing at ease as I watched this shadow of a man puff on his tobacco. I wasn't in the room with him, not really–I'd taken a step into a holographic circle that both scanned my body and relayed my voice and form back to him over lightyears and also gave me a three-hundred and sixty degree of vision.

He wasn't a man to waste time scaring the recruits, or perhaps he knew that his display of power wouldn't work. He turned to face me, his eyes seeming to glow in response to the star's background light behind him.

"Commander Shepard," he said. "Let's talk."

He took a seat in the middle of the backdrop, once again a silhouette, and placed his ankle on his knee. "Miranda did well. Are you feeling alright?"

I gave him a slow, measured look. "I noticed a few upgrades."

"Technology changed in the last two years." He took a deep puff of his cigarette. "We adapted." He inclined his head. "The medics told me you're exhibiting some flu-like symptoms. I'm glad to hear that the antibiotics are taking effect. Originally we introduced the flu to strengthen your immune system, so you'll be glad to hear that once it's over with you'll never get it again."

He put a reassuring air in his voice, and I moved my threat assessment. Upwards. This was a man very used to playing both sides of the coin. "You spent two years of time and effort to get me operational again," I stated. "Obviously, it's for something important."

He flicked the cigarette with another finger, dropping the ashes into a tray built on the side of his expensive-looking seat. "I think you'll agree with me when you hear what we're up against. Colonies are disappearing–human colonies. We suspect that someone is working for the Reapers, just as Saren and his geth aided Sovereign."

I crossed my arms, doubtful. "How do you know about the Reapers?"

"Commander, we have agents in every level of Alliance military," said the Illusive Man, a small smile on his lips. His face was perfectly symmetrical, so much so that it had to have been a surgical job. His dark hair was graying at the temples. His eyes, I noticed, had implants in them to project a blue glowing light. _The best and worst of humanity,_ I thought, _all in one package._ "We heard about the Reapers and weren't so naive to dismiss it on the spot. All the evidence points to the fact you were right, but the Council didn't see it that way. When the human ambassador dismissed you on the spot we were all, myself included, very upset. You would have thought it would change after Saren's attack on the Citadel, but the Council, the very ones you saved, dismissed your facts even when that machine nearly killed them. Anderson is trying, but he's only one man."

"Yeah, I remember," I said. "They said it was geth, covered the files, and sent me on a milk run in the Traverse while they hushed up the people who agreed with me."

"Their intentions are good, but they're blind to the real threat while they gamble away at politics and social standing." The Illusive Man waved a hand in dismissal. "The real threat is on the horizon, and only a select few know about it. The disappearance of the colonies is, in a word, disturbing."

"You brought me back to life so I can save a few colonies?" I asked, deadpan. "That's not harvesting."

"We're not talking about a colony the size of Feros, Commander, though you'll be happy to know it's thriving thanks to your efforts. Hundreds of thousands of humans have disappeared without a trace, not even an abnormal DNA sample. So yes, I'd say that fits the definition of 'harvesting.'"

"What are the signs of attack?" I asked curiously.

"The colony loses its' comm systems due to a mechanical blackout a few days before the attack," he said. "When a Cerberus team gets there it's normally after the looters or some Alliance rep has swept the area. Thousands of people, gone. Humans. Shepard, you killed a Reaper. I'm not sure if they understand fear, but that definitely earned you some respect. It's only natural that they'd want to take members of our species for study, or kill them."

"And the Alliance and Anderson just happen to be ignoring this?"

"They're sporadic, isolated cases in the far reaches of space. They think it's slavers. I don't know what Anderson thinks, but whatever it is, it's not going to help us. He lost a ton of political clout after you died."

It was strange to hear those words and believe them to be true. But if I died, where were the memories of Heaven? Why couldn't I remember? Maybe you couldn't take those memories on with you–it was one or the other, life or death. A devout Christian my entire life, this was something unheard of, though I recognized the meaning behind Project Lazarus immediately. _Even the Bible says it could happen. But there's no way the Illusive Man is God's new Jesus. Damn it, Ashley's probably laughing her ass off somewhere._

"You're Cerberus," I stated, bringing my mind back to the meager task of killing the Reapers. "I've seen you do more than anybody's fair share of genetic tests during my travels. Tell me–why should I trust you?"

"I wouldn't expect you to take what I say on pure faith alone," he said easily. "That's why I'm sending you to the latest colony hit. It's a run-of-the-mill place out in the Traverse called Freedom's Progress. Miranda and Jacob will brief you."

"What can I expect when I get there?"

"I don't know," he said, "but that's why I'm sending you."

"I had a good team, one of the best," I told him. "I want them with me."

"It's been two years," said the Illusive Man. I felt my stomach flip in reaction to the words he next said: "Most of them have gotten on with their lives."

I gave him a long, solid look, my insides churning. I wanted to know about Ashley, Garrus, and the rest of them, but if what he was saying were true, then I would just be wasting my time. _Later,_ I promised myself. "I saw Miranda shoot and kill someone in cold blood," I said instead, switching to the subject that mattered. "How can I trust her?"

"Miranda," the Illusive Man said carefully, "is very devoted to our cause, and she acted exactly as I expected her to do. Wilson was one of the best, but he was a traitor and would have destroyed humanity's chances of survival if she hadn't acted the way she did."

"I notice you keep saying 'humanity's survival' and not 'everybody's.' Are your interests solely for human political control?"

"I've got humanity's best interests at heart, Commander; you can always count on that. But that doesn't mean I'm xenophobic–I just want to give our species the best chance as possible. Our methods may be rough, but they get the job done."

I frowned at him. "You know, I nearly got sent to Akuze before I was given some shore leave on Elysium," I accused. "Experimenting on thresher maw acid on live human beings? How is that furthering your goal?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Don't be coy, Commander, it doesn't suit you. Who do you think petitioned to give you shore leave?"

"I did. I didn't think it'd be accepted. You can't go on and say you knew about me before Eden Prime–"

"Actually, I will," he said, cutting me off. "We can discuss the details later. Meanwhile, Freedom's Progress is wasting away. You're to take a shuttle to the planet with Miranda and Jacob and discover what you can. Report back here and I'll answer every question you have."

He was a shadow, the best and worst of humanity, and right now I knew which side of the coin he was playing on. Not only was this to edge away from my questions, he was asserting his authority over me. He was the boss, and the subtle threat in his voice spoke more about his character than a few honied words ever could. "One last question, then," I said. "Jacob's a gun for hire. Why would I trust him?"

"He's formerly Alliance. He's never trusted me, but he's always been honest about it. I'll leave it to you to make your own judgements."

I nodded. "Alright. Thanks." It seemed like such a stupid word, 'thanks,' but he'd brought me back to life. _A second chance. . ._

I turned to step out of the ring. "Shepard," said the Illusive Man, "Ashley Williams hasn't forgot about you, but she doesn't know you're alive, either. That's a secret between Miranda, Jacob, and us. Not even the medical team that met you as you disembarked know of your former condition. Don't go contacting her or any of your old friends until you come back."

I kept my shoulders and arms relaxed, betraying none of the sudden tension in my body. "Yeah, she'd be a bit disturbed," I muttered, and stepped out.

The sudden return to the small, cramped room with disorienting. I could see the slight orange reflection of the walls at the holoprojector shut down, and looked up the stairs leading down into the room. I climbed them, feeling old and recyclable, and thought about our conversation.

Ash still thought I was dead, and not for two weeks–oh, no, it was two years, because my life really is that complicated. She probably found a nice guy somewhere, maybe she and Joker. . . I didn't know. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to. I needed some kind of stability in life, some direction marker that said: _Reaper colony here. Weapons system here. Button directly in front of you. Press when ready to save galaxy. _

Two years. . .

"Damn," I muttered.

Miranda and Jacob were huddled together by a terminal, checking some readings–mine, probably. Jacob saluted as I approached, but Miranda only shot me a single glance before returning to her work. Her nose wrinkled. "Time to go, Commander. You'll be able to eat and drink on the way there."

A pressure in my bladder deigned otherwise. "Actually, bathroom. Do you know where it's at?"

"Directly behind you, next to the locker," she said without looking up.

As I left, I heard Jacob distinctly say, "I almost expected you to ask him for a urine sample."

I closed the door behind me, blocking their conversation, and did my business. As I did so, I checked my merchandise. Everything was still the way I left it, happily, and it seemed to work reasonably well. I felt pretty uncomfortable when I wondered if they'd tampered with anything. . . _down there._ There are three sacred areas of my body no doctor was allowed to touch, look, or modify in any way–the front, the back, and my nose. The first two for obvious reasons, the third because having another person stick their finger up your own nose was a serious violation of space. I had a feeling that all three had been messed with.

I growled.

Jacob seemed to be fighting a smile when I returned, and even Miranda looked humorous. "Did I miss the joke?" I asked.

"Nothing you want to know about, Commander," Jacob told me, grinning now.

"Tell me anyway. Can't hurt."

"Well. . ." He threw a look at Miranda.

Miranda cleared her throat, dropping her eyes about mid-waist. "We were wondering when you'd make a pit stop to make sure everything is in working order." Her eyes returned to mine, and suddenly I was fighting a blush.

"That so?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jacob began to chuckle and gestured to the shuttle-bay doors. I followed him, feeling very violated indeed.

* * *

&.

Freedom's Progress was a ghost town. I knew that even before the dropship landed and we jumped down on to the slippery rock. The colony was mainly compromised of large stone buildings that looked like they'd been quarried out of the local basalt caves the scanner was picking up to the south. A dusting of snow lay upon the houses and the ground, making the prospect of running doubtful. The cool air felt welcome on my face, though, tempering the receding fever. The snow was lightening up according to the skies, which meant better visibility. The first house we entered was empty and devoid of life. "It looks like they just got up and left," Jacob noted, gesturing to the half-eaten meal on the table.

I nodded, glancing out the open door. "Listen, let's keep our guns up. Something doesn't feel right here."

"Yes, sir," Miranda said. I looked around when I heard the lack of motion on her part and realized her weapon was already out. "They had a cat," she said, nodding at a small glass plate set on the counter. It looked like somebody was right in the middle of preparing food when they'd been abducted. "I wonder if it was taken."

_Taken by who?_ I thought. "It probably ran off," Jacob said. "The snow would have buried the tracks by now."

"Keep moving foreword. Nothing here." We continued on, though abandoned buildings, and Miranda and I stopped at the same time about ten minutes in. Faint voices carried over the wind, too quiet for Jacob to hear, and I wondered if Miranda had some tweaks, too. She pressed a finger to her lip and slid into cover with the grace of a dancer. "More than one person," I said quietly. "Let's give them a surprise."

* * *

&.

**(Tali'Zorah vas Neema)**

"You'd think the _bosh'tet_ would have realized that we didn't do anything," Hadi'Naad vas Rayya said, fingering a small, bullet-sized hole in her red tunic with an air of apprehensive disgust. Her kinetic barriers had taken most of the impact and the bullet had lodged harmlessly in the suit's additional armor plating above her stomach. She sighed. "Sorry, I'm just worked up. Go on."

We bent over a holographic layout of Freedom's Progress, determining. I glanced up at Hadi'Naad, empathizing with her. She wasn't part of the quarian military and her times spent under fire from an enemy were few and far in-between. "We know, Hadi," I said, trying to calm her down. Her nerves were beginning to affect the others, and it was my job to get them back alive. "You did very well, just keep your head down next time."

I used to recognize when Shepard did it, that kind of small encouragement that makes you glow inside. I wasn't a good leader, not really, but I cared for my team. Despite my own doubts, Hadi nodded once and let go of her fabric.

"What about that vehicle that landed earlier, Tali?" Prazza asked, glancing up from the hologram. We hadn't had time to focus on that recently with all of the explosions, but I was apprehensive. If Cerberus was around, it was bound to complicate matters.

"There's no way we'll be able to get Veetor without running into them first," I said slowly, thinking. "We're not prepared for combat, and the mechs are going to give us enough trouble. Just don't shoot them–let me handle it."

"You've been against Cerberus in the past, ma'am," Teeson'Korya stated, his voice full with the unshakable confidence of youth. "We trust you to know how to handle them."

Prazza shrugged, and turned back to the holoboard. "If Veetor is hold up here," he said, pointing, "we could move a team through each side and flank him. That would give him less chance to–"

"That only works in the vids," I said, shaking my head. "We'll have to–"

The door burst open. Prazza moved at the speed of light, his assault rifle trained on the intruders. "Stop right there!"

"Prazza, no!" I yelled, stepping between him and the target. "You said you'd let me handle this." I glanced at them, prepared to give them a piece of my mind–

–and stopped. I'd recognize those eyes anywhere.

"Wait. . . Shepard? Is–"

"I'm not taking any chances with Cerberus operatives," Prazza snarled.

"_Put those weapons down!_" I growled, turning back to glare at him. I'd thought it would work, dispell the illusion, but he was still there. The human male and female flanking him had their weapons drawn, but his was held loosely at his side. He looked pale, paler than I remembered, and his eyes had lost some of that intensity, but it was him. It was _him._ "Shepard?" I asked again, waiting for my hopes to be dashed away in another explosion. "You're alive?"

"I'll prove it's really me," he said earnestly, placing his weapon back on his belt. "I gave you the data we collected from those geth holdouts so you could complete your Pilgrimage. Did it help?"

"It's him, Prazza," I said, hardly believing it myself. And where was his hair? "I'm sure of it."

"Miranda," Shepard said, his eyes never leaving my own, "Jacob, stand down."

The human male, darker-skinned than I was accustomed to, reacted instinctively, lowering his weapon. The woman, dressed in a white skin-tight suit, obeyed slower, gazing calmly at me with shaded blue eyes. "As you say, Commander."

"Why would your old Commander work for Cerberus?" Hadi asked. There was a hard edge to her voice, tempered by the slight curiosity. Commander Shepard's story was well-known within the Flotilla.

"I. . . nearly died." _I watched you die. I scanned for your suit's transmitter as I left–I watched the life leave your body. Do not tell me you _nearly_ died. _"For the past two years they've been putting me back together, piece by piece, to address the abductions of human colonies. Tali, I didn't wake up until today. You have to believe me."

"We'll beg your pardon if we don't trust your word, Cerberus," said Prazza angrily. "Nobody would have done that much to bring back just one soldier."

"You have never seen the Commander in action," I said, smiling despite of my disbelief. I looked back at Shepard, my heart beating hard enough that I was surprised he couldn't hear it. "Then perhaps we can work together," I said, trying to get back to business. "A young quarian named Veetor came here for his Pilgrimage."

"Isn't that a little strange?" he asked, his eyebrow twitching in surprise. "A quarian coming to a human colony?"

"We can choose where to go in Pilgrimage," I told him. "He always liked the idea of helping a small settlement. He was always... nervous in crowds."

"She means that he was unstable," Prazza stated. "Combine that with damage to his suit's CO2 scrubbers and open-air exposer, and he's probably delirious."

I closed my eyes, feeling as though we weren't doing the best at describing his erratic tendencies. "When he saw us landing he hid in a warehouse on the far side of town," I explained. "We suspect he also programmed the mechs to attack anything that moved."

"Veetor is the only one who can tell us what happened here," said Shepard. "We should work together to find him."

I nodded. "Good idea. You'll need two teams to get past the drones, anyway."

"Now we're working for Cerberus?!" Prazza spat.

"No, Prazza," I snapped, rounding on him. "You're working with _me_. If you can't follow orders, go wait on the ship." He glared right back at me, but dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment. "I found a warehouse on the far side of the colony," I continued, glancing back at Shepard. "We'll circle around the far side and draw off some drones to clear you a path."

He tapped his ear. "Keep in radio contact."

"Will do. Good luck, Shepard." I turned to go, motioning to the others to go out ahead of me. Prazza hung back, waiting. "Whatever happens," I said quietly, "it's good to have you back. Commander."

Shepard didn't call me out on the obvious, and I was grateful. Only he really knew about quarian culture, and would have known that we don't send entire teams to find one person if they didn't make a call in a specified time. I wasn't about to tell him that we suspected Cerberus might be behind it when two of their operatives stood behind him, measuring my every word. As soon as we heard about Freedom's Progress losing comm capacity a small group had immediately volunteered to do some recon–it was only a matter of pure luck that I was on the Rayya when it happened. We weren't military–Hadi worked on the agricultural ship in the middle of the Fleet, Prazza was fresh from his Pilgrimage, Teeson had gotten back only days ago, and the others were of the same mold. They'd been relieved when I came with them.

In truth, the reason I'd come was far more simple than simply wishing to extract a mind-fuzzed brother from the teeth of Cerberus, though that was a very large part of it. The reason I'd come was to see humans again, as much as that shamed me. I wanted to save another colony, to experience the warm glow inside when I succeeded. I wanted to, somehow, feel as young and naive as I'd been on Feros and come out without so much as a suit puncture.

And what do I get? Was this just dreaming on my part? Was I sick with fever, hallucinating all over again? Because surely Valar Shepard would _never_ shave his head, and he'd never ally himself with Cerberus. And then there was the fact he was clinically _dead._

His cheeks were flushed with the cold and my suit detected an elevated core temperature belying a fever. Knowing that he was sick with symptoms I was intimately familiar with did nothing to ease the tension in my shoulders. Keelah, I wanted this to be true, but. . .

He seemed to read the indecision in my body language and took a step foreword, holding out his hand. Prazza jumped and I heard the _whirr_ of an assault rifle being trained on Shepard. The woman, Miranda, reacted instantly, snapping her pistil up so fast her arm appeared blurred. Shepard touched the tip of my shoulder, protected by layers of section seals and environmental units, and I wished I could have felt his fingers, to know that it was really, _really_ him.

It certainly wasn't an imposter.

"After this is over," he said in a low voice, barely audible, "I'd like to talk."

I nodded, and he took a step back to resume his position at the head of the team. "I would like that, too," I said. If only he knew how much. If he were a quarian and part of my team I would have made him stay in the ship. _Fighting,_ in these temperatures? "You're sick. Will you be okay?"

He smiled ruefully at my concern. "I'm not likely to keel over and die again, Tali."

"I know, it's just. . ." I just shook my head in amazement. "You cheated death once, and if I watch you die _one more time_ I'll just–I don't know. I want to talk. Soon."

"We will," he promised. "Now get moving, before all the good ones are taken."

"Taken by who?" I challenged. I turned around, joining Prazza at the door. He ushered me out before Shepard could answer, closing the door behind us. "Prazza, you don't have to worry. No matter what Cerberus has done in the past, Shepard is a good man. And he's not being manipulated. So save it."

Prazza growled something deep in his throat. "They'll take Veetor and go without us," he said angrily, slamming his fist against a wall. "They'll–"

"Listen to me, Prazza, nobody is going anywhere," I snapped. "Get over it for now, or else we'll _all_ be wiped out." When he didn't answer, I turned around to look at my team. Their body language was tense, focused, but from that alone I couldn't tell if they'd follow me. "Look, Cerberus did awful things to the fleet, and I hate them, too, but I trust Shepard and that should be enough for you. Now come on."

They moved, albeit reluctantly, and I made sure the watch them carefully as we set foreword, circling around in a wide arc to draw the mech's fire. Hadi was nervous and stayed in cover most of the time, reminding me of my first firefight. A wave of my omni-tool disabled a FENRIS, a type of mech than reminded me of a rabid guard-animal, and the shock of its explosion sent a neighboring LOKI to the ground. A few bursts of Teeson's assault rifle silenced it for good.

I radioed Shepard when I saw a squad of security drones detach themselves from the main wave and head towards their general area. Prazza's gunfire stopped abruptly–we were out of enemies.

"We're not going to let them take Veetor," he said in a hard voice. I recognized the tone too well; he'd made up his mind. "Are you so willing to give him up?"

"Prazza–"

"Are we going to let them take him?" Prazza shouted, directing his glare at shy Hadi. "Tali'Zorah would have him taken to those monsters. Are you going to _let that_, Hadi? Feesa?"

"I. . . I don't know," Hadi whispered. "Prazza, it's Commander Shepard–"

"It's not," he replied, kneeling down next to her. "It's not. They only want us to believe that. Somehow they must have known she was here with us. They hacked into our channels once, they could do it again! They'll kill Veetor!"

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, getting to my feet. "You _idiot._ That's him–I don't know how, but it _is, _and he would _never_ let them get their hands on him–"

"Tali," said Prazza, "that's not Shepard. It never was. He is _dead!_"

And he aimed the assault rifle at me.

"I don't want to do this," he whispered, "and please–please don't make me. But you're being manipulated by Cerberus, we can all see it! We have to get to him before they do. We have to."

I sputtered at him, enraged by the betrayal, and Teeson gently took the pistil from my hand. "I'm sorry," he apologized, sounding scared, "but he's right. We can't let this happen." He began to unclip the other weapons from my belt, hesitated, and left the omni-tool where it was. Even he wasn't as heartless as to leave one of their own without a viable piece of tech to defend themselves. I was outraged.

Prazza motioned me to move back, and I did, seething with every step. He motioned for them all to move away; Feesa, Teeson, Hadi, and Nosawd didn't spare a backwards glance, as focused as they were on their new objective, and Prazza hesitated only a second before following them.

As soon as they were out of side I switched to an encrypted channel, knowing that they'd be eavesdropping on Shepard's official one. "Shepard! Prazza and his squad rushed on ahead! I told them to wait and they wouldn't listen! They want to find Veetor and take him way before you get here."

"We should have expected this," Miranda muttered.

I shook with anger. Everything was ruined, and it was my fault–no, wait, it _wasn't mine._ Dammit, Prazza, why couldn't he listen to me? If we all got out of this alive I was going to take him by the neck and place him in the most painful joint lock I could imagine, and I could imagine quite a bit. "Can you divert them at all?" Shepard asked.

"They took my weapons. I'll come meet you. Stay in contact."

I took off.


	4. Changes

_I've seen too many people die because they never followed orders. They might think they're doing the right thing, or maybe they're stretching out to make something of themselves. Glory and fame is just a passing flame, and they don't seem to understand this. I don't envy the man who informs a family that their only child died because he had selective hearing. There is no room for personal pride in the Alliance–there are orders. They keep you alive. When orders become obsolete, then civilization becomes obsolete._

**Doctor Chakwas, months before hijacking **_**Normandy**_

* * *

Pure teamwork is a seamless integration of personalities, ideals, and goals into a single entity. If there is one off chord in a symphony of instruments, do you suspend your recital indefinitely until you fix it? Unless they're a specialist and _needed_, you don't even bother, because one person isn't going to ruin this for you. Now, imagine that you're conducting the recital–everything's right, but there is an undercurrent of off-key chords beneath the perfect harmony you're seeking. You have to straighten this out, but it's only a few hours pre-concert. One of the brass gets up and challenges you and then takes the team in a whole new direction than the one you've planned for.

Worse, the brass player takes away your guns, leaving you stranded as they rush off playing soldier under a totally out-of-proportion misapprehension. They think they're right and they're _driven._ Good intentions or no, you know that unless you get to them they'll die soon–and painfully.

Hadi was a pulpy mess on the ground, all shredded meat and tendons. Teeson was no better, and Feesa's left side had been blown off from an incendiary round. The remnants of her body were strewn haphazardly on the ground, guts and intestines rolling out for all to see. I'd managed to drag Prazza away from the gruesome scene as Shepard drew their attention, a cold knot of anger in my stomach, and set about treating his wounds. I activated a signal locator on my belt, broadcasting my general area to any passing quarians tuned into our secure channels, and felt a brief thrill of fear at the shouts outside. The gunfire was deafening, so loud that my suit's audio dampeners kicked in to muffle the noise, but I could still hear the sporadic shouts from Shepard's team as they took down the heavy mech that had brutally murdered my friends.

They obviously hadn't been working for long. During firefights back in the old days, we hadn't needed to say a thing to each other as we progressed further and further. We were a machine, unstoppable and relentless, held together by the fusion of will that was Shepard. Miranda and Jacob were good, but they were out of practice. Shepard never yelled–all he did was turn the volume up–but it seemed to me like he was beginning to get impatient. He had a team of two leaders who wanted to do things their way. Jacob at least attempted to follow orders, but he was sticking his head out of cover too much and he liked to be stationary; Miranda was experienced and seemed to compute well with his style, but she was the one giving the orders–or attempting to.

It was almost painful to listen to their conflicting views, but Shepard was obviously still the Commander and he wasn't giving suicidal orders. His strategy involved movement, keeping the mech as off-balance as possible. A sudden explosion, loud enough that I flinched, marked the end of the battle like a punctuation mark.

Silence.

"Injuries?" Shepard called. He didn't even sound winded.

"None."

"None, Commander."

"Tali?! Tali, are you still with me?"

"Yes," I answered, relieved despite myself. "Let me tend to my wounded, Shepard. Go find Veetor and get what you need, I'll be with you shortly."

Shepard didn't waste any more time, and out of the window on the far end of the trailer I'd taken cover in I saw him ascend the stairs up into Veetor's hideout. I felt my shoulders sag, wondering if I'd made the right choice, and continued my duties.

Prazza hadn't broken cover when the heavy mech began to charge, not until it was otherwise distracted. The missile fired from its' arm missed him as he ran and impacted slightly behind him, sending shrapnel and debris flying at a high velocity. It tore through his suit and ruptured the skin beneath it with long diagonal slices that cut down into the bone, and I had to work quickly to sterilize the wound and feed him antibiotics through the medicinal implants in his forearm. I rubbed as much medi-gel as I could on his leg, which clamped down tightly on the wound upon contact. It wasn't life-threatening, but–_Oh, Keelah, I hope he's sick for months!_

The antibiotics were sure to keep Prazza swimming in a chemically-induced coma for the next hour, so after running my omni-tool over him to check his suit's life signs I took his assault rifle and stood. Before reuniting with Shepard, though I dearly wanted to, I made myself look at the dead. I looked at poor Feesa, laying in a pool of her own blood; I looked at Teeson, who'd fallen second; I looked at Hadi, whose faceplate was cracked. A dark red mixture of phlegm and blood had piled on the bottom and was steadily dripping on to the pavement, where it congealed in a black puddle.

I could feel myself shaking and I had to place a hand on the railing leading up to Veetor's safe haven to keep my balance. I wasn't exactly unused to gore, but never before had I seen something wage such a destructive war on my own people. I'd always seen humans, or asari, or krogan end up like that, but never, _never_ somebody of my own race.

I wasn't naive enough to think it was my fault, though I certainly shared part of the blame for not being a better leader. If only Prazza had listened to reason, if only _they_ had stayed with me. If only they didn't go running for Veetor when they _knew_ about the heavy mech! And Shepard. . .

I listened to the conversation next door, feeling if possible even sicker with these new revelations. Veetor was unstable, too traumatized about whatever happened to give real, lucid answers. Shepard calmed him down, and Veetor began to talk of swarms that decimated the human population, and creatures that took the humans in pods. I glanced in the doorway to see a dark room highlighted only by a large number of surveillance screens.

"My God, I think that's a Collector," Jacob breathed.

Shepard muttered something under his breath. "Veetor, how did you escape?"

The screen showed large, insect-like creatures carrying paralyzed humans and dropping them into large, organic tubes that sealed upon contact. The humans offered no resistance, and I couldn't tell if the swarms I could see on the cameras had actually knocked them out or not. But the fact of the matter was, Cerberus wasn't behind it.

"Hurry, grab Veetor and let's get the hell out of here," Miranda snarled, turning away from the scene.

"What?" I cried, stepping in. "No. He's traumatized and needs medical attention."

"We'll only take him in for a few questions," said the dark male calmly. "We'll send him back when we're done."

"Veetor is not a package to be rented at your own pleasure, Cerberus," I growled, coming up to stand beside him. Veetor whimpered a little and clutched at my hand, muttering things I had no name for. "Shepard, look, I'll gladly lend you a copy of his omni-tool data, but you can't take him."

Shepard nodded, and I felt a savage pleasure when Miranda's face suddenly tightened with controlled emotion. "I don't want to hurt him any more than he has been," he said.

"Good. I'm glad you're still the one giving the orders," I said, throwing a look Miranda's way.

"Tali, do you think you can come with us? I'll need somebody I know I can trust if we're taking on the Collectors." He looked at my hopefully, some of that old sparkle in his eye. "It'll be just like the old days."

I laughed without humor. "On any other day I'd say yes, but I can't, Shepard. My mission is too important for me to drop what I'm doing to come with you, no matter how much I want to."

"It sounds dangerous," he said, his brow furrowing in concern. "Can you tell me about it?"

"Not while you're working with Cerberus." I shook my head. "Maybe one day I'll see you again. I'd like to talk. Here." I took Veetor's omni-tool gently from his arm, shushing him when he began to protest. "It's okay, Veetor, I'm going to give it back. I just need to foreword this so no more humans disappear." When I had done so, I slipped it back on his hand. He began to make adjustments, and I realized that he'd treated the thing like a security blanket as the Collectors moved in. It was heartbreaking.

"Thank you, Tali." Shepard sounded like he meant it.

I allowed him one more, long look. "_Keelah se'lai_, Shepard."

And I set about the task of convincing Veetor to come outside into the ship a few blocks away, feeling horrible.

Veetor was terrified of being outside of his shell, and would frequently run for the closest house and sit down in a corner, crying. It was only through great patience that I managed to steer him in the right direction. Thirty minutes later I succeeded and went back for Prazza; he was a big man, all dead weight, and I knew I had my work cut out for me. Spurred on by the fact that the ship was only a few blocks away, I lifted him up in a modified fireman's carry, back to front, using the strength in my legs to push myself to a standing position. He was all dead weight, plus his enviro-suit, and my muscles screamed for release and I pressed myself foreword, one step at a time.

Halfway there, my knees buckled and I let him go. I winced at the sound he made as he hit the ground, panting, and decided to rest for a moment. I jumped at the sound of movement among the rubble, training Prazza's assault rifle at origin of the noise. Veetor appeared, shaking and whimpering, and stuttered, "V-Veetor will help, and we'll leave s-soon, y-yes?"

I sat back on my heels, shocked. "Thank you, Veetor. That's very nice of you."

"Tali'Zorah is going to save Veetor from the swarms, before they come back? Then Veetor, Veetor will h-help." He bent down and took Prazza's upper body with two hands and waited for me to grab his legs. "Veetor doesn't like it here," he said as we began our walk. "Veetor wants to go back to the Migrant Fleet. _I left the Fleet to seek knowledge among the stars and return to share my learnings with society and contribute to the greater good of all quarians. I left the Fleet. . ._"

He kept talking, muttering that code phrase over and over again until we reached the safety of the ship. He dropped Prazza's head unceremoniously to the floor and took a seat in the pilot's chair, tapping on the controls I'd locked when I left, seeming not to care that the controls reacted to his touch with a profound lack of movement. I told him to wait for a moment and strapped Prazza's inert body into a chair, then sealed the ramp.

Moving Veetor gently out of the seat, I unlocked the ship and set course for home. As we hit the Mass Relay I felt a great sadness rise in my chest. A few tears leaked out of my eyes as I remembered the bodies of my team laying so still on the ground below up, and I vowed not to let their deaths be in vain. I would take care of Prazza, the _bosh'tet,_ and I'd make sure Veetor was given proper care when I docked aboard the Rayya.

Veetor's muttering grew softer and softer, and soon he was asleep.

* * *

&.

**(Shepard)**

The prospect that I was going up against the Collectors was a frightening one, possibly even more so than the last suicide run to Ilos. Their entire species was one surrounded by myths and secrets, blockade-runner tales of riches and technology traded to willing privateers and slavers for sets of species with strange genetic defects. Personally, I'd always discounted the claims that they were strange interspecies slavers or breeders–more likely they were performing horrific experiments on their victims, looking for strange chromosomes, possibly developing bio-weapons or some other kind of tool to help prune a species' population as they became more advanced.

The Collectors were only accessible through the Omega-4 Relay out in the Terminus Systems–or at least, that's where they always seemed to manifest–and every attempt to follow them back through was met with failure. Not the failure of a crashing ship into the side of a large Reaper-construct, no, but sudden communication loss. The last sign of a ship passing through is a sudden increase in the mass effect core, enough to nearly overload it, and then. . .

Nothing.

If the Collectors were working for the Reapers, then it would make sense for them to target humans. After all, an Alliance fleet tore one of their very own, Sovereign, into debris raining all over the Citadel, and one human soldier proved himself capable of listening to Prothean communication networks like the mass relay, aided by the Cipher given by a millennium-old _plant._ Only the humans they were targeting had no defect nor any other distinguishing marks except that they lived in the outer reaches of the Terminus System–a place where, if discovered desolated, wouldn't be missed by the wider galactic community.

The Collectors, and by extension the Reapers, had been doing this for _two years._

How nobody seemed to notice this was crazy, insane, and I knew that the Illusive Man was hiding something even greater from me, something astronomical in its size. I didn't bother to ask Miranda and Jacob, knowing that they'd be required to lie most possibly, and chewed on the question during the long shuttle-ride back to the Cerberus outpost:

What preparations were being made toward the Reaper threat?

A chill settled deep in my gut as I thought about it, and I began to wonder. . .

No, there was no possible way. Anderson was still alive, he was still there, fighting for the Reapers–for _me._ Apart from my old crew, he was the only one who'd believed me, who'd backed me up even when my own _mother_ thought I was being manipulated. A pang settled in my chest as I thought of her, wondering how I could possibly tell her what happened, or even if I could. Was there a special card at Hallmark I could buy that said: 'Mom, sorry. I was clinically dead for two years while Cerberus brought me back to life because the Collectors are working with the Reapers and abducting human colonies our government is too thick to pay attention to.'

Yeah, I doubted it. That sounded _bad,_ even to me.

And then I had to think, wondering if it was all as it seemed. Sure, the pieces fit together snugly once you thought about it, and the Illusive Man wouldn't spend billions on my reincarnation to send me on a wild goose chase. . . If I was even dead at all. Was I? I thought of Tali then and abandoned that line of questioning–she was the only one aboard the _Normandy_ with the tech to scan to bio-signs within my hardsuit, and I'd watched her get on the escape pods right before Ashley did. She was tuned into our frequency, she would have heard my final moments on the radio, suffocating in that dark, dark void, coming ever closer to the planet beneath me. . .

As I thought back on it (it wasn't hard, that moment was as vivid in my mind as Virmire was) I began to realize a voice had been calling for me as I choked on nothing. Tali, Ashley, Joker. . .

I closed my eyes, dropping my head back to lean against the headrest behind me as a wave of sudden disgust rolled through me–disgust at myself, for not realizing this sooner, disgust at the Collectors, disgust at everything.

The Collectors screwed with my ship and my life. I seemed to remember Sovereign trying just that, only these people actually _had._ Killing them wouldn't be enough. Surprisingly, I found myself quite at ease, even joyful, as I considered the eradication of the entire Collector race. They _looked_ insect-like, so maybe they laid eggs. Maybe there was a Queen Collector I had to go take care of.

_A real soldier,_ I thought, _would drop a nuclear warhead on their hives._

A nice, big explosion would set the end off nicely, I thought. Maybe afterwards Ash and I could go get some dinner, be like a normal couple for once. Yeah, I'd like that.

I'd have to set about recruiting the old team again, though. The Illusive Man said most of them had gotten on with their lives, but he didn't know them like I did. First, I'd need to somehow find a ship as good as the _Normandy _had been, or better. Considering that I _probably_ wasn't part of the Alliance Navy any more considering my confirmed KIA, I didn't think that the best thing I could do was waltz in there and demand a ship and a crew. Especially if the Council and half the Alliance brass thought I was being controlled by a dead man, though I had no proof of that except for a strong suspicion in my gut. Anderson was a good guy, but he was just one man.

Ashley would side with me, I thought confidently. And Garrus. Liara definitely would if it meant finding out more about the Protheans. And after Tali finished her own little suicide mission. . . I wasn't completely sure about Wrex, but if he knew what we were up against. . .

I began to make plans in my head, backtracking and modifying as need be. I wondered if Joker was still around–dumb question, he was _always_ going to be around–and thought about how I'd contact him. And as long as I kept the Reaper stuff to a minimum and acted like I never really died, I might be able to even convince the Council to help me out.

Might, if, maybe. I hated those words, and I was using them a lot in my thought process. The problem was, there were too many variables. I liked plans and set-in-stone paths as much as the next guy, but after chasing Saren around? Screw plans, just figure out where you're going, and wing it from there with as much ordinance as you can. Always count on radio failure, always count on things you could never explain previously like the Thorian or Rachni, and always, always expect to be making a quick exit.

I'd been worried that after Sovereign nothing else would seem as exciting. I'm going to have to stop thinking that, lest I die again and the Collectors kill us all.

So don't die. Unfortunately, I always do manage to get into 'situations' as Ashley would call it, so I'm probably fighting a losing battle over it. It's not dying that scares me–okay, it does a little bit–but it's dying with unfinished business that makes me drink-spilling nervous.

I opened one eye to stare out the window at the menagerie of stars floating past my window in a slow, even dance. _Imagine,_ I thought darkly, _a single entity that could snuff them out._

All of us jerked as the ship was caught in a sudden mass effect field, despite the artificial gravity keeping us down. Blue light wreathed the ship, burning my eyes with an aura so bright that I had to close them, and we accelerated. It was like the ultimate rollar-coaster ride, going from zero to a speed so fast it hadn't even been recorded yet. There was another jerk as we appeared at a corresponding mass relay, and then we gently coasted towards where ever the hell the Illusive Man hid his base.

Predictably, the windows suddenly darkened and the inside light when on. Miranda caught my look, holding a small device in her hand, and I just shook my head and closed my eyes, wondering if I could catch a small nap before boarding.

That wasn't to be so. The pilot kicked in the afterburners and we zoomed off for the mysterious base. "There's a patrol coming," Jacob said, unconcerned. "We'll make it into cover before they even see our tail-lights."

"What kind of patrol is it?"

Jacob shrugged. "We don't even know. Boss gives us patrol patterns, we evade them, and head in. Only one who knows where we're going is the pilot." He cracked his neck. He seemed to have been waiting for somebody to break the silence. "That was some crazy shit back there, huh? What do you think?"

I shrugged. "If the Collectors are working for the Reapers, that spells out a lot of bad things nobody is going to want to think about."

"Yeah, I hear that." He shook his head. "That's just messed _up._ They've never taken this many people before."

"That we know about," Miranda muttered.

"Yeah. It's always babies with birthmarks on their right shoulders, or near-sighted batarians or something. Always in sets. Entire colonies. . . what are they doing with them, do you think?"

"I don't know." For the first time, Miranda sounded disturbed. I supposed she would be–a doctor, scientist, whatever like herself probably had a problem with mass genetic tests. "I'm not sure I even want to guess."

"I was thinking maybe a weapon they can use tailored only to our species," I mused. "Put it in the hands of the batarians in a trade for a few krogan? Cure the genophage, as long as they give a few salarians? It could go down any possible way."

"Every one of them worse than the last. . ." Jacob sighed and glanced longingly at the weapon strapped on his belt. I remembered that look vividly: after Virmire, Ashley would often drum her fingers on the edge of her rifle. It was her tell, the look that told me she was worried about the Reapers. _Taking up this thing against Sovereign? Might as well be using a pea shooter._ "Still, at least the Man got what he wanted. Now we can start this show."

I almost began to list what we needed right then, but closed my mouth at the last minute. I closed my eyes again.

I'd just slipped into a light doze when the ship docked and the windows lightened again, showing the pristine white Cerberus-issued walls. "I'm not going to have to meet another medical team, am I?" I grumped, standing up and wincing in the sudden bright light.

Miranda smirked.

As before, the team met us as we disembarked, running their omni-tools over me in a very thorough and invasive manner without even a warning. I spread my arms and legs like they were doing a strip search and tried not to look too impatient considering the fact that it was due to their efforts I hadn't blacked out on the battlefield or something more insulting. My fever had returned about ten minutes after they'd given me the antibiotics, something Miranda was very concerned about, and they made me sit down in a wheelchair they'd taken out just for me, apparently, and one of the techs muttered, "We should ice him. Look how red he's getting."

Miranda waved her hand, dismissing the theory. "He's just upset about the wheelchair. See? Core temp hasn't changed."

Doctors. They were all so _pushy._

They deemed me fit to continue living after five more minutes of poking, prodding, and scanning, and I had the distinct impression that Miranda was enjoying herself. _Horrible bed-side manner. Might explain why she was ready to take Veetor and go so readily._ The techs retreated, taking their god-awful wheelchair with them, and I finally relaxed.

"Miss Lawson?" I asked, a sudden thought hitting me. She turned to regard me, dark blue eyes expectant. "Did you guys do something funny to my immune system?"

"We didn't. Wilson did, and I just happened to clear it." At my incredulous look, she continued, saying, "Your immune system is running at a faster-than-normal pace. You have too many white blood cells and they're affecting the balance of pathogens in your body. The flu we introduced in your system is gone completely, but some of the effects seem to have mutated into your blood, so you'll have the fever for quite a while until we figure something out."

I turned to leave, too angry for words, and she said, "Also, the splitting headaches you'll experience later are quite normal. We've upgraded you with L5x implants to give your biotics a boost, but it's still a prototype. I'll give you a packet of morphine shots after your meeting so you can deal with it."

I stopped walking and turned around. "Anything else I should know?" I asked, keeping the anger in my voice under control.

"You're sterile," Jacob said. I blinked, and he began to laugh nervously. "Just kidding, Commander. Uh. . . _am_ I kidding, Miranda?" He glanced back at her, a look on his face that suggested he deeply hoped he _was_ kidding.

Miranda ducked her head to hide a slight smile. "He _is_ just joking, Commander," she said, catching my expression. "We left everything intact."

I fixed them with a long, hard look, turned around pointedly, and tried to walk out of there with as much dignity as I could manage.

* * *

&.

The shadow was already sitting down, no cigarette this time, looking back at me with bright blue eyes that forever killed the grandfatherly image he meant to portray. "Commander Shepard. Good work on Freedom's Progress. The quarians foreworded their data. Nothing new, but a surprisingly olive branch, given our history with them. You and I have different methods, but I can't argue against your results."

"Maybe you should try playing nice once in a while, see where it gets you," I suggested.

"It's often difficult to make good when the side you're negotiating with sees you as a threat," he said lightly. "Fear and power work just as well, too. _But_ more importantly, you confirmed that the Collectors are behind the abductions."

"Why were they suspects?" I asked curiously. "Entire colonies are too big of a package for them."

"I had my suspicions, but I needed proof. The Collectors are enigmatic at best. They periodically travel the Terminus Systems, looking for seemingly unimportant objects or specimens in exchange for greater tech and resources. When the exchange is made, they disappear as quickly s they came–back through the unmapped Omega-4 relay. Until now, we've had to evidence of direct aggression from the Collectors."

"I get the sudden interest in humans," I said, "but how exactly do you know they're working with the Reapers?"

"All the signs were there," he said easily. "One just had to know where to look. And the fact remains that one man–one very specific man–is all that stands between humanity and the biggest threat we've ever faced. Freedom's Progress was just a stepping stone, and it has to stop. At any cost."

I nodded, crossing my arms. "If you want me to take out the Collectors, then I'll need a good team."

"Of course. I've assembled dossiers on some of the best. I'll foreword them to Miranda and you can take a look at them."

"I don't want your team," I said, "I want mine. They've got as much stake in this mission as I do."

"Shepard, that's nota good idea," said the Illusive Man. "Under better circumstances I would agree to it, but their loyalties have changed. They're not the people you thought they were."

"Amaze me." I crossed my arms. "What's Chief Williams up to?"

"Stayed with the Alliance after you died," he said. "Got promoted. Her file is extremely well-classified, so I can't tell you much."

"Garrus Vakarian?"

"Left C-Sec after a few months and disappeared. Surprisingly, we've been unable to locate him."

I felt something sink deep in my stomach at his words. Had he gotten frustrated again? _Dammit._ "Liara T'Soni?"

"On Illium, an asari colonial world. Rumor has it that she's working for the Shadow Broker–if that's so, then she can't be trusted."

_I'll believe that when I see it. _"Urdnot Wrex?"

"Hasn't left Tuchanka in a over a year. He's united the krogan population into combating the genophage."

_Good boy. _"Tali'Zorah helped us on Freedom's Progress."

His answer was a millisecond slower in coming. "That came as a shock. I'll need more data before I can commit to that."

I chewed on my tongue, digesting this landslide of information. "Might be handy to have some Spectre resources available."

"By all means, if you can convince them, please do," he said, nodding. "Though the Council has changed it's tune since you saved them, as I told you before. It might just be safer not to go at all to avoid the political tight-walk you'll get when they find you alive."

"There are ways around that," I said confidently.

He nodded, conceding the point. "Just be careful, Shepard. Now, I'd like to continue by going over the dossiers I've sent to you. I'd strongly advise you to start by acquiring Mordin Solus, a salarian doctor working on Omega. He has a brilliant mind and is the best bet we have of developing a counteraction against the swarm's paralyzing toxin."

_Paralyzing toxin? So he did know what I would find. Interesting._

"I should probably start there, then," I said, nodding. "Is there a psyche file listed in the dossiers? I don't like surprises."

"Everything you need and we've been able to retrieve are in those files. Though I will warn you of Jack. Doctor Okeer has violent tendencies and insists on furthering the future of the krogan, but in a more direct way than Urdnot Wrex's."

He pulled a cigarette out of a side pocket and lit it. "Also, we've gotten you a ship and a pilot I think you can trust."

His image broke up suddenly into pixilated fragments, and the orange holographic wall encircling me began to recede. _He _thinks _I can trust,_ I thought grimly. I rolled my shoulders and my neck, going through a range of simple stretches to check out my flexibility. I used to be very flexible before I died, and this sudden lack of range disturbed me. My muscles seemed weak, too, atrophied from use.

It would take a few weeks of some serious training to get back into my former shape. I sighed.

"Hey, Commander." The voice seemed to stretch through time itself, in which the explosions sounded like a thunderclap in the distance. I turned around, feeling like a hand was squeezing my heart. Joker was dressed in Cerberus-issued fatigues and wore a baseball cap. He stood in the doorway, chewing on some emotion, and grimaced. "Just like old times, huh?"

"Joker?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "_Shit!_"

"Oh, well, yeah, nice to see you, too, Commander," he said, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. "You know, I said the same exact thing when I saw your new look, Doctor Evil. Bald's not your thing, and those weird-looking scars? Scary. Sci-fi."

I grinned, placing a careful arm around his shoulders. "I can't believe it's you."

"You ain't kidding, I saw you get spaced," he said, shaking his head. He seemed to be able to walk on his own now, a vast improvement, but he was limping. The heaviness of his steps suggested he was wearing his leg braces. He led me up the stairs and into another room.

"Got lucky, with a lot of strings attached," I muttered. "How'd you get here?"

"Everything fell apart without you, Commander. All that trouble you stirred up, the Council wanted it _gone. _Team was broken up, records sealed, and I was grounded. The Alliance took everything that mattered to me–hell yeah I joined Cerberus."

He took me to a window looking out into a dark room and stopped, turning to stare at me. "You really trust the Illusive Man?" I asked doubtfully.

"Well, I don't trust anybody who makes more money than I do," he said, snorting. "But they aren't all that bad. They saved you. Let me fly–and then there's _this." _He crossed his arms, looking utterly content with the world. "They only told me last night." He gestured towards the observation window.

I could see the silhouette of something big in the background, presumably a new ship. I looked out, the almost-tearful joy radiating from Joker cting like a neural stimulant. One by one, the showroom's lights clicked on, highlighting first the nose, then the bridge, then. . .

SR2 was painted on its front lasers beside a large Cerberus symbol. I watched, trying not to display my shock, as the dark silhouette began to take the shape of the ship I loved and missed the most.

_It's bigger,_ was my first thought, _and it's painted a different color. But. . ._

"We're going to have to give her a name," I said, grinning broadly with a smile I hadn't felt since I woke up.

Joker giggled half-hysterically and pat me on the pack. "Welcome home, Commander. Sorry about getting you killed."

I glanced at him, tearing my eyes away from the ship. "Joker," I said softly, "I don't regret a thing."

_I get it now, Kaiden. Doesn't mean I'll stop feeling guilty._

"Yeah, well, we did," he said, glancing back at the ship with a little less excitement than before. "It was torture, you don't get it. I've _never_ heard a buddy die like that. I mean, you hear about it, see it in vids and stuff, but hearing it?" He shook his head. "And it was my fault, don't sugar-coat it. But I'll make it up to you, Commander, you'll see. I'm not letting you get killed for me ever again. You say go, I'm _going._ You don't have to haul my ass off the burners this time around."

"You don't have to make up for anything," I told him. "You're walking around just fine, you can haul your own ass to the pods this time around," I said half-jokingly.

"Yeah, well, don't count on me losing this baby any time soon," he said, shaking his head. "I'm heading in–all my stuff's on board. You need to see this, Shepard. But you _might_ want to tell Miranda and Jacob we're heading out so they can get their stuff." He shrugged and started to walk away.

"Hey, Joker," I called. "Glad you're back."

He turned around and spread his arms apart like he was gathering the world to his breast. "Yeah, you _better._ It's not a real galactic war without your favorite pilot."

* * *

&.

**On board the **_**Normandy SR-2**_

_Wow._ The _Normandy_ was good, better than new, and I was _impressed._ More than impressed–right then I could understand Joker's motivations for joining Cerberus. The bridge looked about the same, but in the place of the Galaxy Map was a large 3D model of the outside hull, showing everything from the little divots and texture of the metal. What amazed me even more was the amount the people in the seats, running through diagnostics. I could hear them talking, chatting in a very unconcerned manner, and more than a few eyes turned to look at me as I walked down the length of the ship with Miranda and Jacob flanking me.

Jacob was looking around, looking impressed, but Miranda just crossed her arms and said, "The _Normandy_ is state-of-the-art, replicated the prime specification. We'll be able to take any Collector attack now."

I thought of the way they'd sliced through the old _Normandy_ like a laser through a blade of grass and shook my head. "There's always room for upgrades. So this houses a full crew?"

"The Illusive Man handpicked them himself," she replied, nodding. "We don't have blatant xenophobists on board, if that's what you're wondering, Commander. Everybody here is willing to do their jobs and stop the Collectors–whatever the cost."

"So they know everything?"

She nodded. "You can go chat with them later if you like, and get a tour of the ship. After reading the dossiers, I suggest we first start by acquiring Mordin Solus, the salarian doctor on Omega. We know the Collectors use some kind of nerve-paralyzing agent to immobilize their victims, so we'll need him to create a counter-measure."

I nodded. "That's what I was thinking, too."

"Acquiring Professor Solus seems like the most logical place to start."

The voice sounded from the small intercom behind me and I frowned. "Who are you?"

At once, a large blue holographic pop-up sprang to life in front of my eyes. It had no humanoid form, reminding me of the Death Star in the Star Wars movies generations back. Where the trench would be, it opened and closed in rhythm with its' words as if it were some kind of mockery of a mouth. "I am the _Normandy's_ artificial intelligence," it said. Its tone was human enough, bearing the same strength and weight of vocal chords that gave it a woman's voice. "The crew like to refer to me as EDI."

_Well, we might as well break a few more laws today,_ I thought. _AI programming. Wonder how many years the Illusive Man can get for that alone? _"Helmsmen don't like it when people take away control of a ship from them," I said instead, raising an eyebrow. "Especially Joker."

"I do not helm the ship," said EDI. "Mr. Moreau's talents will not go to waste. During combat, I inhabit the ship's electronic warfare and cyberwarfare suits. Beyond that, I cannot interface with the ship in any other way. I observe and offer advice, nothing more."

EDI disappeared.

I blinked. "Anybody else I should meet?"

"The crew is at their stations, ready for orders," said Miranda. "Talk to them when you'd like. Meanwhile, I'll be in my office on the third deck." She walked away, and I watched her go. Instead of taking on of the side doors like on the original _Normandy_, she took the door that originally led to the comm center. It turned out to be an elevator, and she disappeared.

I frowned.

"Yeah, I'll be over there in the armory," Jacob said, a small smile on his face as he pointed to the door winging towards the right. "Over there's the tech lab, but we'll need a scientist before we can open that door–Illusive Man's orders, I guess. The rest of the doors are open. Third deck is one level down, where you can eat and see the doctor. Below that is Engineering."

"Thanks," I said, inclining my head. "I'll go take a look around."

He nodded and snapped off a salute. I watched him disappear, and set about exploring the _Normandy _and her new capabilities.


	5. Normandy SR2

_After all of those years isolated from people, so absorbed into my research, well, I suppose it has made me a bit uncomfortable socializing. Most days I prefer to be alone, running over ideas in my mind, but I'm trying hard. I'm starting to feel a bit of a connection with the rest of the team, and I feel as though I'm starting to. . . oh, I don't know. Fall into place? I feel as though I belong here, Shepard, and I have you to thank for it. So, thank you._

**Liara T'Soni to Commander Shepard, approximately one week before the Battle of the Citadel**

* * *

The _Normandy_ SR2 was twice the size of its predecessor, divided into four levels in the middle of the ship and insulated by a variety of combat seals, armor plates, and intra-venous shield inlays that should give us a fighting chance against the Collectors. Two years ago ('pre-death' I was starting to name it) I would've been hard-pressed to believe that I'd own a ship better than the first, but this time I _knew._ This baby was extreme in every detail, and I was overwhelmed at first. I even had a cabin all to myself on Deck One with an _aquarium. _Such a waste of cubic space, I knew, but obviously the Illusive Man spent a few resources towards keeping me happy.

I did a general walk-around on Deck Three, the general crew congregation area. The mess hall was designed after the original ship, but an actual kitchen had been implemented on the side with state-of-the-art cooking instruments. It was manned by a guy named Gardner, and after looking through his personal file a bit on my omni-tool over an adequate meal of steak and potatoes, I learned that he'd lost his entire family to a batarian attack and joined Cerberus not long after. Curious, I talked with him for a bit and soon began to enjoy myself. He was easy-going and didn't mind doing the unsung work, from cleaning the vents, cooking the food, and even plumbing the toilets. He complained a bit about Cerberus food stores, saying he'd actually given me one of the best meals on the house on account of just coming back from the dead. I promised to funnel some credits down so he could do some shopping on our next stop at a respectable planet, and he seemed satisfied. I pocketed three cookies, a thank-you gift, and continued on my way.

I liked the idea of giving the crew bunk beds instead of the regular Alliance-issued sleeping pods and even met two of the crew on break, a male and female who introduced themselves as Rolsten and Patel respectively, and they said they were honored to be aboard and under my command. I garnered a few salutes as I left, passing two crewmen who had just taken a seat at the table I'd just evacuated minutes ago. "Commander, we expecting a good fight?" one of them, a man, called.

"The best," I replied, coming over. I extended a hand. "Good to meet you."

"Good to meet _you_," said the other, a dark-skinned woman with short, cropped hair stated fervently, shaking my hand. "I'm Tracy Goldstein, this is George Hawthorne. Welcome back, sir."

"Glad to be back," I said, grinning. I looked at Hawthorne, who seemed to be memorized by my scars, and asked, "You looking foreword to some action?"

He blinked and nodded. "Yes, Commander. Every Cerberus operative stationed here has some combat training or another, except for the doctor. Oh, and your assistant. We're all _honored_ to be on this thing, sir, and we'll be fighting for you one-hundred percent."

"I'm glad to hear it." Hawthorne was a smaller man than average, but more than made up for it with his increased muscular size. His shaved blonde hair was cut so close to his head that patches of his scalp could be seen underneath. "Were either of you in the military before you joined?"

"Alliance," said Goldstein with a rueful glance towards her comrade. "You'll find that most of the crew are if you check through our files when you have a chance. Most, including us, with the same reasons for joining. Couldn't stand the politics and realized Sovereign was a threat bigger than what they were saying."

"Are any of you aware of Cerberus activities outside of the Lazarus cell?" I asked curiously. I didn't buy the story about most of them being former Alliance, but it was plausible that the Illusive Man recruited them in the time-frame between then and now for their abilities. Most soldiers didn't even know what Cerberus _was,_ and I hadn't even known about them until Admiral Kahoku, God rest his soul, led me on a manhunt throughout the Terminus Systems, wiping out facilities along the way. I still wondered why nobody brought that up.

They said they weren't. "Most we know is that it's a pro-human group," Hawthorne said, shrugging. "Other than that? Zip."

I started to ask more, in-depth questions, when a door opened behind me and to my left. I glanced up to see the new arrival, who broke into a familiar, exasperated smile. Steel-gray hairs ringed the strong face of the chief medical technician, who, even two years later, wore that same crisp uniform ironed down with military precision.

Doctor Chakwas and I hugged, and she squeezed me tightly before withdrawing with the biggest smile I'd ever seen her give. "Commander Shepard," she said warmly.

"Today seems to be a day for ghosts," I agreed, shaking my head and chuckling to myself.

"I watched the _Normandy _die with you on board," she said, scanning my face with those sharp eyes of hers. "It is a pleasure to see you alive once more."

"Same for you, too," I said, nodding. We took our conversation to the medical bay, a place so different from the original that I had to stare, and Chakwas pulled up another chair across from her new desk. "I can't tell you what it means to me having you on board."

"Nonsense," she said, waving a hand in the air. "I still work for you, Commander. After all, you _did_ convince me to, oh, what were those charges? Theft of military craft, insubordination against not only Donnel Udina, but the rest of the Council? They never officially charged us with anything, but unofficially we've been reminded quite a few times by the Alliance. For example, after you died they put me on a ground facility, quite away from any ships at all. I was dreadful."

As she talked, she typed on her computer, pulling up biometric readings. My name was on the top of the file. "I'm sorry to hear that, Doctor," I said, looking over the data with an apprehensive air. "Couldn't Anderson step in and help you?"

"No, I'm afraid he couldn't," she said sadly. "After all, it's not like it went on forever. I was. . . recruited into Cerberus nearly a month after your death." I cocked my eyebrows in surprise and she hurried on, saying, "Oh, no, I didn't perform those God-awful experiments. I flew on small cruisers as the chief medical officer during pirate raids. Your Illusive Man didn't put me anywhere near his special projects, and I never asked about them."

I grunted in distaste. "They do horrible things to people," I said, "and think of how many people died to get the information that would revive me. How could you and Joker join them?"

A shadow passed over her face, and she looked out the window towards the kitchens, her expression mournful. "Every day I woke up wondering what you would think, Commander. If you knew what we were going through, you would understand. I don't side completely with them after everything I saw, but they do a lot of good, too. I prefer to be on that side of the board."

I shook my head, feeling irrationally angry even though I perfectly understood. Trying to control myself, I changed the subject. With a nod towards the computers I asked, "So what're the scans for?"

Chakwas seemed glad for the topic change and said, "I'm making sure Cerberus didn't miss anything. According to my medical reports you were woken up earlier than expected and are suffering from a few chemically-induced symptoms I should be able to take care of. Your muscles are atrophied, but part of the medicine they've been feeding into your system by some kind of implanted tissue-regenerator is a type of steroid I'm not familiar with. It's the only reason you're not flopping on the floor like a fish."

"Great," I said, a bitter edge coloring my voice. "More things they're doing that I wasn't aware of."

"I'm sorry, Commander," said Chakwas immediately. "I know this must be frustrating for you."

_Damn straight it is. _I sighed and shook my head, unwilling to get into an argument at this point. What was done was done and there was no way I could reverse it. Though, now that she mentioned it, I did feel weaker than I normally was. First I'd thought it was fatigue, but it was deeper than that. "Well, at least I'll be able to set off every metal detector out there just by being in the general proximity," I sighed. "I could just say it's a force of personality, after all."

She smirked. "I'd prefer it if you slept in the medical bay tonight, just for observational purposes. And. . . it'll make me feel a bit calmer, too."

"You don't like being alone here?" I guessed.

She shook her head. "No, not that at all. I am used to being alone. But having you here will help me realize this all isn't some kind of dream that will float away when I wake up."

I stared. "Miranda put you up to that, didn't she?" I guessed again.

Her expression was answer enough. I stood suddenly, unable to be in the room. "I'm _not_ going to be a science experiment," I spat, heading for the door. "See you later."

I almost went to Miranda's office on the same floor to demand her to lighten up, but I was in a bad mood and negotiations never went well if my head wasn't on straight. I was. . . _tired._ More so than I'd ever been, even though I'd only been awake for a couple of hours. The clock said it was 23:05 and I knew I should probably go up and hit the hay lest I collapse. Promising myself that I'd go down to Engineering tomorrow, I took the elevator back to my own private suite and, on a hunch, fired a mini-EM blast from my omni-tool that wiped out any listening devices that may have been present. The 'tool said six were neutralized, all in various positions around the room, and I smirked to myself.

"Commander Shepard, it is strongly advised that you report to the medical bay for overnight observation and study," EDI said, appearing as a giant blue sphere from a terminal beside my fish tank. She sounded contradictory.

"No." I began to take off my armor plates, storing them in a drawer beneath my bed.

EDI was silent for a few more seconds, probably gathering a response from Miranda in the background, then said, "Very well, Shepard."

She blinked out of existence and, just for good measure, I found the volume button on her terminal. I turned it all the way down and climbed into bed, gripping my pistil (the safety on) in my hand as I pulled the sheets around me. I was asleep barely ten seconds after my head hit the pillow.

* * *

&.

"She didn't mean anything by it."

"I know."

"Look, I'm not saying you should go be Cerberus's new test subject, but you should really–"

"_I know."_

"Okay, okay, sorry, Commander. I'm just trying to–"

"–help. Yeah, I know. Sorry for snapping." I sighed, rubbing the bags underneath my eyes, and stretched. We were still thirty-seven hours away from Omega, our first stop, and I'd had a very restful night, slipping into a sleep so deep that I hadn't woken up for twelve straight hours, and only then because Joker decided to limp upstairs to check up on me. I was still in bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and feeling immensely irritated. Joker sat on the couch across from me, stretched out luxuriously with his leg braces detached and sitting next to his feet. "Damn it," I muttered, sitting up. I ran my hand over my head, almost expecting to feel my hair there, and made a face when it met a smooth, bald surface. "And damn them for my hair, too."

"It'll grow back," said Joker, sounding forcibly upbeat. "Hey, cheer up."

I glanced at him, evaluating the uncomfortable edge beneath his cheery outlook, and realized that I'd never complained before back on the old _Normandy, _not even when Udina locked us down. I rolled my head around on my shoulders for a moment, popping the bones back into place. "I'm a bit out of it. Just give me a few days and it'll be better."

"Oh, well, that's good then," said Joker, sounding slightly relieved. He nodded at the pistil laying next to me on it's side, looking very lethal indeed with the blood spatters on the side. "So, uh, you went to sleep with that?"

I glanced over at it and shrugged. "You would, too, if your day was as crazy as mine."

He nodded, conceding the point. "Yeah, true. You do know you're technically a zombie now, right?" I raised my eyebrow, and he laughed. "Just saying, don't get your hair in a knot–oh, yeah, sorry. _Relax,_ I'm trying to make you feel better, Commander. You're making it pretty damn hard, y'know."

"Joker. . ." I had to ask this question. "Do you think Ash would join up if I asked her?"

For the first time, a shadow crossed his face. Looking extremely uncomfortable, he shook his head. "I really doubt it. I haven't actually seen her in two years."

I grimaced and stood, fighting the sudden head rush, and Joker began to gather up his crutches. I'd fallen asleep in the jumpsuit typically worn underneath armor, and I was beginning to smell. "Shower," I grunted, disappearing into the built-in bathroom. I locked the door behind me, perturbed, and began to undress. If they thought I was going to continue with their little science experiment, they were dead wrong. I was fine enough, and, to me, it seemed like all I had to do was get in shape again so the steroids stopped screwing with my body.

Why had Joker not kept in touch with Ashley for two years? Had she changed, did she blame him for getting me killed? I was confused, and it wasn't an emotion I was intimately familiar with. Sooner or later she'd have to know I was alive, and the longer I sat on the secret the harder it was going to be to break. Like any good boyfriend, I should have called her or something, left a note. _Something_ to give her some hope, even if she wouldn't allow herself to feel it. I didn't even know her email address, as sad as that was, because I'd never needed to use it before. Maybe if I went to Anderson. . .

_Hell yeah_ I was going to Anderson. Former Captain or not, _friend_ or not, he was still humanity's representative on the Council, and I needed access to whatever relevant files he was willing to foreword to me.

When I got out of the shower, Joker had left, which I figured was just as well. I wasn't in the mood today, as much as I was relieved that my death hadn't been in vain. I needed answers, I needed. . .

I collapsed into the chair in front of my private terminal, a towel wrapped around my body, and began to massage my head.

I needed Ashley.

Love was another strange emotion–sure, I'd _experimented_ with a few girls back in secondary school as I continued my studies, but nothing too serious. Flirting was a time-honed skill, and I'd always been a natural at it. I was the guy with the phone numbers and email addresses, but I was also the guy who never called, who never wrote. The silly girls I met as I traveled were small and meaningless, just a mild attraction as I awaited the order for us to move to our next posting, and out of all of them I had perhaps only two friends I stayed in contact with. After I'd joined the Navy at sixteen, we had one giant get-together. Months later, I went to one's funeral; he'd been killed in a bank robbery. The second distanced himself from me, or perhaps I did it, and we hadn't talked for years.

You found a lot of good friends in the Navy, like Anderson or Alenko, and the people there _understood_ in a way nobody else could. But when you find a girl like that, somebody who makes you laugh and presses your buttons just right, you can't help it. I thought I'd be able to control it, I really thought I had, but then. . .

The choice between Alenko and Williams was a tough call I never, ever wanted to make again. Either way I would lose a friend, but if I lost Ashley I would lose more than a friend. Ingrained training, burned so deeply in my being, saw a choice between a man who had volunteered and a woman trying to buy me time. All instincts said to protect and respect. I chose Williams, and Kaiden died.

I didn't believe anything about his last words. _I don't regret a thing, Commander_ was going to haunt me for the rest of my days, and I'd always wonder if he _did_ or if he knew my reasons for choosing Ashley.

Afterwards, I could barely look at her. I shut myself in my room for an hour, closing the door as I had never done before except to sleep, and came out with a calm facade I didn't feel. I comforted Joker, who was mourning the loss of his best friend, and I comforted the rest of the team. Chakwas was crying, I remembered that. Kaiden had gotten on along well with her.

And Ashley. . . she could barely look at _me_, but she plucked up her courage and kissed me on the cheek when I came to check on her, see how she was doing. And she _hugged me_, squeezing me tightly, and said she couldn't change it, but she wanted to see it through. At the time, I didn't know which thing she wanted to see through was, and I don't think she did, either.

Hell, how could I explain my feelings for her? She was a best friend, an ally, and a wonderful woman. And her opinion completely terrified me.

I hated feeling like this, like some type of girl PMSing. I wanted some stability, I wanted. . . I didn't know what I wanted.

_I want to go home,_ I thought sadly, thinking of the original _Normandy. I want to go to sleep._

I sat there for a few more minutes, staring out into space, and finally got up the will to get dressed. EDI appeared after I clothed myself, watching me with a silent, accusatory air as I placed the pistil in my pocket. I relented and turned the volume back on.

"That was unnecessary," EDI remarked. "If I wished, I could have used the ship's intercom."

"Then obviously it's not very important," I said, raising my eyebrows. "I don't like wake-up calls."

"There is no need for that," she replied. "I do not act as your alarm clock, Commander Shepard. I simply watch and offer advice when needed if we're not in combat."

"As you're about to do now, no doubt."

"Yes. If you do not report to the medical bay for regular checks, you run a high risk of malfunctioning on the battlefield and getting yourself or your team hurt in action. This does not come from Operative Lawson, which you are no doubt wondering. It is simply common sense and a logical assumption based on the patterns of circumstance, and the most wise course of action right now would be to agree with Doctor Chakwas and have her run her tests on you, placing your personal feelings of Cerberus aside and putting your trust in your former crew member."

EDI went quiet, observing me, and I felt stupid. I ran another hand over my bald head, wondering when hair would start to appear there, and said, "You're not like any other AI I've met, EDI."

"Yes. I am not shooting at you, but giving counsel."

"And you're right. I'm not about to let my crew die again because I don't trust Cerberus enough. I'm not taking back what I said, though–I refuse to be an experiment."

EDI had no answer for that, and said instead, "Doctor Chakwas is waiting for you downstairs. Logging you out, Shepard."

She disappeared, leaving me alone for what I suspected was the first time since I'd entered the room, and I crossed over to my private terminal to check any incoming messages. There was a small message from the Illusive Man about a set of armor that was recovered from the science base I'd escaped from yesterday and en route to my ship, which I could care less about. I leaned back in my chair, thinking, and activated my omni-tool.

"Come on, two years won't kill you," I muttered, typing in a new command. It was a new tool and unfamiliar with the websites I was searching, but eventually I managed to get to the homepage of my old, private email address I mainly used for forwarding myself pictures I took with my omni-tool. With a few clicks I brought it up on-screen and, with a pang of relief, discovered my account was still there. It hadn't even been flagged for deletion, which I thought was odd, but then I realized that the last time 'I' had logged in was two weeks ago. I couldn't get more than that, and I wondered who had managed to get into my personal email files.

Perturbed, I searched through old files until I found the one I was looking for. A small grin on my face, I waved the omni-tool in the direction of the empty picture-frame on the shelf behind me. A digital picture appeared there, depicting a group scene consisting of my old crew, taken a little bit before Virmire. Liara, her pale blue skin glowing faintly in the light, smiled shyly up at the camera, dressed in a slim-fitting tunic of green and silver; Wrex glared up from the background, looming like an undersized giant; Garrus was on the other side, arms crossed and looking confident; Tali was next to him, waving cheerfully; I was in the middle, my arms around Ashley and Kaiden both, and we smiled at the picture-taker, who I remembered to be Pressly. The intercom could be seen in the background, Joker's preferred communications method of choice, so in a roundabout way he was in the picture, too.

I placed the frame carefully next to my computer terminal and began to look more closely into the unspecified logins on my account. There was no way I could accurately trace the IP address without hacking into the server itself, and I lacked the skills to do that without tripping an alarm. If only Tali or something was here, then I would know. . .

Did Mom do it? Most things that were on there were pictures or notes that I would use to remind myself of certain things. Some said, 'Take shower, don't care if you're tired.' Others said, 'Check ammo' or 'Clean weapons.' Nothing important was on there, nothing at all, except for a few pictures and vids. . .

I scanned through them quickly. Most were inconsequential, pictures of crew members working around the ship, or some kind of nice horizon on an uncharted world. They brought me back to the old days, and I couldn't help but smile when I saw Garrus sitting in full armor on a too-warm world, leaning against the side of the Mako with a defeated air. Tali's feet could only just be seen, the rest of her body having disappeared underneath the engine. Remembering that this was a vid, I pressed the play button, and they sprang to life in my hand.

"Out of all the planets we could get stranded on," Garrus said sadly, glancing up at the sky. Tali's feet were moving. "Just waiting for the thresher maws. Meat meat, come get it. . ."

"Relax," said my voice, years ago. "None are in the area–I checked."

"Garrus?" Tali asked, sliding herself out from underneath the vehicle. She lay on her back, sand marking her purple outfit, and she asked, "Please don't work on the Mako any more. You–oh. Why are you recording us, Shepard?"

Out of the screen, I laughed. Tali stared at me for a long moment, then went back to fixing the Mako. I remembered that scene perfectly. The video ended not long after that when nothing else happened, finishing on a close pan of the horizon and the little speck in the sky that would soon solidify into the _Normandy._

There were other videos like that, other notes, other pictures, and I downloaded them all to my personal inbox. On a small hunch, I typed a message and sent it to myself, there for the person who found their way in. 'Who are you?' I asked.

Setting my alerts to ping me when I got a reply, I stood, joints cracking, and closed my terminal. I took the elevator to Three, wondering if I'd at least be able to catch a meal before Doctor Chakwas performed her tests. It wasn't to be, however. She was waiting for me, leaning her back against the wall, measuring me with a hesitant, concerned look as the doors opened. "Shepard," she said by way of greeting. "I'm sorry, I know I must have put you in a difficult position. After everything you've been through–"

I raised a hand, cutting her off. "Don't talk like that. I was a jerk. I trust you not to put any illicit things in my meds I don't know abut. I'm sorry for not trusting you before."

Her expression softened. "I accept your apology, Commander. To be fair, I don't think I would relish the chance of being poked and prodded, either." She led me to the med bay and proceeded to poke and prod me, muttering calculations under her breath and writing down information on piece of paper. "Most of what they were doing to you is above my general knowledge, and theirs most likely. . ."

I tried not to complain as she proceeded with her check-up. "So how's the new _Normandy _working for you, doc?" I asked, glancing around at the large, stainless-steel room.

"Oh, it's the same as the old one, really," she said, checking my breathing. She chuckled. "A bit more upgraded, of course, and I have access to some medical data I wasn't able to get before–namely, yours. The only thing I'm missing is my private stores. I even had a bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy I was saving for a special occasion; I always regretted not opening that original bottle when I still had the chance. . ."

"You seem happy here," I said.

"Yes, it's. . . okay. Seeing you alive and here really brightened things up."

I shrugged. "I heard things fell apart after the accident. Is Anderson still the man he was last I saw him?"

Doctor Chakwas has been close to him, I remembered. I wondered if he knew about her relation to Cerberus. "I dropped off the grid after I retired," she said sadly. "I still keep in touch with old friends or family who would worry, but I cut ties with Anderson the day I retired. Our meeting didn't go. . . well."

"What happened?"

"He still believes in the Reapers, but the Council won't see it. They hush him if he speaks about it and threatened to remove him of his position if he continued on about it. He went on the defensive, and ever since then relations between them have been strained. I confronted him about my being stationed on New Canton, such a far away little place, and he got angry. I got angry. We haven't spoke since, and I doubt he even knows if I'm alive or not, or even what I'm doing." She sighed. "Part of me feels a vindictive pleasure at the pain I'm causing him, and I hate that feeling. I'm trying to suppress it. He and I used to be friends, after all. But the idea that so many people died, and nobody's doing anything and hushing it up and it just makes me so _angry._"

I was shocked at the overwhelming sadness in her voice, and I wondered how long she'd bottled it up. "I'm so sorry," I said. "Maybe I could talk to him, let him know I've seen you and you're okay."

She chuckled. "No, Commander. I fight my own battles. But thank you."

"I wish I could do more to help," I said. "We need everybody together to fight the Reapers."

"You yourself should know that will never happen, Commander," she chided. "Everybody isn't meant to get along."

"Given a common enemy, we can fight anything," I countered.

Chakwas snorted, removing the stethoscope from my chest. "I won't argue with you, Commander. Your fever seems to be receding, but I can't tell you how long it'll stay that way. Your lungs seem to be working fine."

"And?"

"And for the rest, I'll need to talk to Miranda about."

I almost snapped again, but caught myself. "Fine. I assume I'm allowed to eat?"

"Certainly," she said, helping me to my feet. "I apologize that I can't join you, my duties here. . ." She looked out the window at the small group dining at the mess table, and said, "Do try not to kill Hawthorne when he asks to spar. I've grown accustomed to him."

Mess Sargent Gardner was only too happy to hand me a tray of food–pre-cooked eggs that looked like rubber, uselessly seasoned with a variety of peppers and herbs–and I took my seat next to Goldstein, the African-American woman I'd talked to yesterday. "Look who's joined us for breakfast, guys," she said, calling to the six other assembled crew members. Hawthorne looked up, curious, and his eyebrows twitched in surprise. "Nice to see you up, Commander." A chorus of agreement rang up from the crowd.

"Thanks," I said, leaning over to take a bite out of my food. They watched me, their gazes evaluating, as I took my first bite. The egg was horrible, with a taste that said it came straight out of a ration cube. One of them, Rolsten, chuckled as I paused to identify this, chewed once more, and swallowed. Conscious of their gazes, I ate the rest–after all, I'd tasted much worse–and smacked my lips to a general show of approval. _He needs groceries. Badly. _"Don't worry, we're going to fix the food issue," I assured them, grinned a bit. "But these? Not as nasty as they are straight from the canisters. He's trying."

Back in the kitchen, obviously listening, Gardner laughed in triumph. "HA! See? Ungrateful freeloaders."

"Just laugh it up, Gardner!" Hawthorne called. "We'll see what you do with the real food when it gets here!"

"Just let me break out my _doilies._"

They laughed and returned to their meals. Goldstein gave me the rest of her eggs and concentrated on a vegetarian soup, and a few more joined us for breakfast. They seemed to share the same dismal view of Gardner's food, but were by far less vocal about it. We ate in silence for a while, and then Hawthorne asked rather curiously, "Why is your face glowing like some sort of flashlight, sir?"

I immediately felt my face with my free hand, probing at the new scars along my cheek. "That is a very good question. I never asked it because I really, really don't want to know that they did something _else_ to me while I was sleeping."

"Like?"

I shook my head. "A million things I can't even explain."

His next question was a bit more hesitant. "Did they _upgrade_ you?"

When I nodded, he sat deeper into his seat and concentrated on his eggs. I stood, already finished, and walked my tray back up to Rupert Gardner. He winked and placed it in the dishwasher.

* * *

&.

**(Kenneth Donelly)**

I whistled under my breath as I worked, loud and unintelligible music blaring in my ears with a volume so extreme that it buffered every other noise around me, and typed up another status report for our big bad-ass master upstairs, watching Gabby's hips move in the corner of my eye as she danced, however subtlety, to the beat begging to be heard.I tapped my foot, working in harmony with my partner of so many years, and mumbled some lyrics under my breath–I didn't know them all, of course, which Gabby was keen to point out, so most of it sounded like mangled garbage.

I pressed a button rather hard as I tapped out the rhythm, changing the pitch of my singing into a mangled, high-pitched whine that made Gabby fall over her station in theoretical agony. Shaking her head and saying nothing (heh, that _I_ could hear anyway) she glanced back up at her screen and sighed. She hit my arm, and I turned down the volume, knowing that if I ignored her she'd whack me a lot harder. _Women._ "_What?_ I was just getting started."

She took the earphones out of my ears with a stern look and held out her hand for the music player. When I didn't give it to her, she pointed to a message on her screen. "Hawthorne says Shepard's up."

I gave her the music player, grimacing. "Ah."

"Be good," she scolded, tucking it into her pocket and away from further temptation. . . though I was tempted to reach in there and take it, just to see what she'd do. I grinned cheerfully at her, and she, always able to guess my thoughts, shook her head and turned back to her diagnostic station. "Just play nice. Be a good boy, Kenneth Donelly."

"Yah, yah, yah, good boy. _Right._" I rolled my eyes towards the ceiling and began to finish up, whistling under my breath, when a thought struck me. "Oi, that was _your_ email, wasn't it?"

"So? It's not like I'm worried about being stuck up on a charge. Besides,_ I'm_ already finished."

"So Hawthorne sent that to your _private_ account. Jesus Christ, woman, we've only been here a few days and you're–" I gestured wildly, edging closer "–I don't know."

Gabby narrowed her eyes. "It's not like that. _Maybe_ I make friends easier than you do."

"Uh-huh, well, I bet if I got the email address of every guy onboard within a couple of hours _you'd_ suspect something, too–"

"Ken, chill," she said, exasperated. I was thoroughly enjoying this, but made sure to keep a straight face and tone. "It's only a couple of people, and some of them are girls–"

I gasped. "I'm shocked!"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, the only warning I had before her fingers were suddenly wove into my hair, pulling me down to her height. She was actually a very tall woman, averaging around five-foot nine, but I'd hit my growth spurt early on and pushed a good six-feet. I didn't take that for granted at _all_, because she had five blackbelts and I was the winner of the Plastic Chicken Tourney back at that fair a couple of years back. In layman's terms, that damned she-devil had me and I was a little nervous. "What was that, Kenneth?" she asked sweetly.

"Uh, oh, nothing." I grinned suddenly and pulled myself away from her, clutching at my prize–the silver music player. "Hey, hey, don't kill me–"

It stands to duly note that whenever I have fun–and that's _whenever–_some sort of CO has to be coming down to check on us, so I should have known that Hawthorne's warnings were with grounds and that he might come to see the ship. Gabby had me in an arm lock against the terminal, twisting my wrist as far back as it would go, asking politely as a she-devil can for the music player, when there was a cough behind us. "Commander!" Gabby squealed, dropping my hand and spinning around. "Uh, sorry, sir, we were just messing around!"

Commander Shepard was a mean-looking son of a bitch, alright, and I was suddenly nervous. I drew myself to my full height, unbelievably shorter, and glanced at those glowing orange scars on his face. _God damn, and I thought they were joking. _He was pale, his green eyes slightly sunken in his face and blurred from exhaustion, and he was _bald._ I don't know what the hell they'd been feeding him, but it didn't look like enough–not by a long shot. I placed myself slightly in front of Gabby, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up, and waited for the verdict.

He did this long, slow look around like he couldn't believe we were the only two down here, then said, "Sorry to interrupt. I'm just getting to know my crew and take a walk around. That okay with you two?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," Gabby said, a false cheerful tone in her voice. "Just, erm, do whatever you want. Your ship, heh, you know. . ."

He grinned, the light throwing the scars into higher relief. "I didn't mean to startle you," he said gently. "Nice arm lock, by the way."

I was slightly relieved that he wasn't going to eat us or do other boss-ass powers. "Great," I muttered, rubbing my wrist. "Yeah, _wonderful_, Gabby. That woman puts me through more pain than I'd bargained for, Commander, and that's the truth. I was the guy who _held up_ the punching bag back at the Academy."

She elbowed me, demonstrating my point. "Kenneth," she scolded. "Show some respect." She held out her hand. "I'm Gabriella Daniels, and this is Kenneth Donelly. We work on the _Normandy's _engines, make sure everything is smooth sailing."

"But, just a secret," I whispered, "we actually call ourselves Gabby and Ken."

I talk a lot when I'm nervous, pure habit, but I also talk a lot when I'm not, which is just as well. Commander Shepard was a guy that'll make anybody nervous, and that's the truth. And was it just me, or did he still look half-dead? I didn't know about Gabby (actually, I did) but I didn't want a zombie walking around. He even smelled weird! Like decaying flesh, most likely. . .

"Then you can call me Shepard," he chuckled, taking Gabby's hand. "Besides, I like to get to know my crew." He gestured at us. "So what's with the fight? Are you two having problems?"

"What?" Gabby asked. "Oh, no, Commander. We're best friends."

I nodded empathetically. "Best friends who hit each other, anyway."

"_Kenneth._"

"Hey, okay, sorry. Not my fault you're temperamental."

"I swear, Ken–"

"So, Commander," I said loudly, "what can we do you for?"

He was watching us all with a small smile on his face I immediately distrusted. "You two don't seem like any other Cerberus people I've met before. How long ago did you join?"

I shrugged. "Shortly after you, er, died, Commander." I grinned apologetically, but he didn't seem to mind. "Anderson lost a lot of political clout after that, records were sealed, and they were saying that the Reapers were all some weird hallucination and a _geth_ creation."

"We rode in on the first wave," Gabby said in a hushed voice. "Saw Sovereign first-hand. We knew it wasn't a geth creation."

"Yeah, their tech is based on pulse-energy. Everything was coming up as unknowns," I said, nodding. "If the geth could built such a big-ass machine, then why would they use stuff they've never used themselves before? It didn't make sense, and I told those Alliance reps that. Of course they descended on your words like vultures, picking apart everything you said. I was very vocal in my defense for you, Commander, I didn't hold back."

"He's under-exaggerating," Gabby said. "The only reason he wasn't court-marshaled was because he's such a good mechanic."

I shrugged modestly. "But it got me noticed by Tim, and here I am."

"Tim?" Shepard asked curiously. "Who's that?"

Gabby and I looked at each other, and we grinned at the same time. She gestured for me to take the reigns. "Well," I said heavily, "the Illusive Man is such a mouthful, and to be frank we're already wasting enough time on those stabilizers, so we dubbed him Tim. I thought it was real funny, actually."

Shepard blinked once, his eyebrow twitching in shock. "You call one of the most powerful men in the galaxy Tim?"

"Well, yeah. It fits," I said defensively.

He seemed to think about it for a second, then smirked. "Tim it is."

Gabby laughed.

"So how did you come in, Gabby?" he asked, turning towards her.

She lifted her chin proudly. "After Kenneth eviscerated the media and the Council, he got the offer. Well, I couldn't stand just lazing around doing nothing. Besides, he'd fall apart without me."

"Yeah, thanks mum," I muttered.

She snorted. "When we got the chance to work on the _Normandy_ I had to jump. This baby is state-of-the-art, best ship I've _ever_ served on."

"Plus, we like the relaxed protocol," I added helpfully. "If I wake up in the middle of the night to take a pee, I don't want a damn hall pass to use the toilets."

Shepard nodded, conceding the point. "Protocol is there for reason, but personally I think it's better suited towards newer recruits learning the ropes. As long as everybody gets the job done, I don't mind if you're listening to the Mind Flayers."

_What? How could he know. . .?_ His eyes dropped to the bulge in my pocket, zippered close, and I felt my ears go red. "Well, sir, that's very good," I said. "Uh. . ."

"And Gabby, I don't care if you check your email, just make sure to log out when you're finished." His eyes flickered over to her terminal, which was closed, and she went deathly still, as she always did when she discovered a new threat.

"Aye, aye, sir," she said, her tone neutral.

He asked a bit about our training and seemed pretty surprised at Gabby's previous unarmed fighting experience. "Why aren't you a marine?" he asked.

"I wanted to ever since I was a girl, but I like computers, too." A small smile played on her lips. "Besides, if somebody ever boards a ship, I'd like to show them that hell hath no fury like _me._"

I raised my hand, feeling ignored. "So vouching for that, sir."

I was pretty sure nobody would ever board the _Normandy_, but if they did I inwardly knew that I'd have my trouble cut out for me keeping Gabby away from the main fighting to concentrate on maintaining the drive core. Damn girl always wanted some action–sometimes I thought that the only reason she even bothered to stay in her current position was because of me. Shepard asked a few questions about the _Normandy_ and how it was running, asked about our opinions of Cerberus, et cetera. Pretty boring stuff, but you can't say that to the only Commander who seems curious about you. On the last ship the only time we ever even saw the Captain was when he was fuming up the bathrooms.

Shepard left soon after, leaving us alone, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "I can't believe he actually came down to see _us_."

"Shush," she said, "I told you he would."

"But how the bloody damn hell did he know what I was listening to? And how you were checking your email?"

The door back to the engineering room opened, and Shepard stuck his head back in. "Magic." He left.

"He's a scary bastard," I whispered in her ear. "Smells funny, too."

She nodded, turning back to her station. "Be a good boy, Kenneth," she whispered back, and we finished our work in silence.

* * *

&.

**(Miranda)**

All neural functions seemed to be in order, and aside from an elevated testosterone level and general exhaustion, Commander Shepard's body seemed to be acclimatizing well to resurrection. It would take weeks, maybe months for him to bring back his original muscular structure so I could disable the steroids feeding into his system, but other than that I was pleased. Not with his attitude, of course, but that was to be expected when his body was producing enough testosterone to grow another pair if he wanted. But he was pretty controlled so far and hadn't broken anybody's neck, so I had high hopes.

I watched him walk around via security algorithm placed in my terminal, writing down my observations next to the notes Chakwas had taken for me. After he left Engineering he returned back to Deck Two, the CIC, and began a conversation with Jacob, then Joker. Yeoman Chambers seemed to throw him off, especially when she said, "Oh, Commander, I love every species! Turian, hanar, salarian, asari, drell."

He responded with a hesitant-sounding, "You're a very loving person," and made an excuse to leave. Chambers turned back to her terminal, not put out at all, and Shepard attempted to go into the tech lab before remembering the restrictions that the Illusive Man–codenamed _Tim_, apparently–had placed. He coughed a bit, rolled on his heels, and went back to the elevator.

Three minutes later, on the dot, he was back in his quarters. Unknown to him, there were cameras installed there that his EMP pulse hadn't destroyed, so I had an unobstructed three-hundred-sixty view of his room from a lightbulb placed above his bed. He began to work out, going through the regular lunges, push-ups, and stretches common to the Alliance military. He focused more on flexibility than strength, grimacing as he brought his leg half-way up and was unable to bring it up any more.

I began to record his workout session, one of many I was sure to be unknowingly party to for the next while.

He was in horrible shape, no doubt about it, and I realized the only reason he'd made it as far as the shuttle back on the station was because his body was filled with pure adrenaline. I made a few more notes. Eventually he collapsed in the middle of a push-up, breathing hard, and tried to do it again. His face hit the ground and he lay there, still. I was afraid he'd finally passed out from overexertion and was about to stand up and go to him when:

"Damn it, Alenko," he muttered. Spurred on by the death of his best friend, he got up and managed ten more push-ups. He rested. Ten more. He rested. Ten more. He eventually got to hit feet in an odd, stiff manner, and began jumping jacks, running in place, and different variations of gym calisthenics. What he needed was a treadmill, I realized.

I opened up a line to the Illusive Man, forwarding him the test results and my own personal observations, plus the security recording of Shepard's exercises with a request for a collapsible treadmill to be sent to the _Normandy_ after we got off of Omega. The Illusive Man replied quickly, stating that it was a good idea and he'd go look for one now.

I didn't even stop to think about what Shepard would think about having a treadmill delivered to him. It was necessary, so he'd put up with it.

I wondered when Shepard would begin practicing his biotics. Obviously not now. While I'd been preoccupied, he'd fallen asleep on his bed.


	6. Thank You Very Much

A/N: I'd like to say thanks to everybody for such wonderful reviews while I've been AWOL on this fic! You guys really make this worth writing. :) I've been very preoccupied with school, my drawings, and Aikido, but I'm finally back in to the Mass Effect writing phase! I've had writer's block on this chapter forever now, but the only way to get through it is to write, it seems. And write I shall!

-CI

* * *

_Those who say sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain._

**Human proverb, a variation of which exists in all alien cultures**

* * *

**Earth, 1 year and 134 days ago (Joker)**

I'm not the most formal guy in the world, but hey, at least I try, right? My paycheck is so big now that I don't have to worry about the expenses of a fancy-ass dinner with the upper echelon. And here's another plus side: I can walk now, thanks to my big bad new friends. It was a big moment for me when I, dressed up in some ridiculous monkey-suit, shaved, and hatless, walked over the restaurant's floor with my girl's arm in my own like some old married couple and didn't fall down.

It was sweet.

The waiter, a tall, stick-figure of a guy with balding hair and an impassive, just-walk-all-over-me face, showed us the wine list (I had to bite down a retort about the prices) and took our drink orders. I ordered a Coke, glad that they at least had one normal and cheap beverage in stock, and Abby ordered a water. The waiter walked away to get our drinks, and we were both left alone, staring around in a dimly-lit, 5-star restaurant.

"Nice place," I muttered.

"Very," Abby agreed fervently, flipping through the menu. Her golden hair was pulled back in the middle, restricting the bangs from flopping in her face as they normally did, and she wore a beautiful blue dress I never realized she had. Her face fell as she read the entrees listed. "Half of them are in French," she said.

"Hell yeah. Look at the _prices. . ._"

"Damn. You could buy a video-game for that steak."

"That better be a good steak."

"This one simmers on low heat for 48 hours," she muttered, aghast. "That just cooks all the flavor out of it!"

I hurried to look at the one she was looking at. I whistled, and a nearby table glanced in my direction. "Shi—I mean, darn."

It wasn't that Abby minded my cussing, but something about being in this place made me want to put a stick up my ass and use conditioner on my beard. The waiter came back bearing drinks and a basket of bread, and after assuring us that he would be back in five minutes to take our orders, left again to scrape the bread crumbs off of a table on the other side of the room.

"That is so sad," Abby whispered. "Look at how _servile_ they all are."

I immediately began to feel uncomfortable as I looked around. "It's not a job I would want." I looked cautiously at my girl and began to wonder if this was a good idea. After all, ever since we first met she made it clear she wasn't a fancy-dinner type of girl. "Listen, if you don't want to stay we don't have to."

Her expression changed from pity to surprise at the flick of a switch, and she automatically reached out to take my hand in her's. "No, no, no, don't think that. This is wonderful, really. Thank you so much for taking me out." She smiled, and I couldn't help but smile, too. She was infectious. She gripped my hand tighter as another thought sprung in to her mind. "You can walk now!" she whispered. "This is the perfect time to celebrate."

"Yeah." I nodded, looking in to her eyes. They were a light blue, the color of a pond, and I knew that if I peered closer I'd be able to see the green ring around her pupil. "You're really hot tonight, by the way," I whispered mischievously.

She blushed. "Oh?" she asked archly. "Why, thank you very much."

Soft piano music played from hidden speakers, and small water-fountains built in to the wall glowed with a soft luminescence. "So how is the Alliance treating you?" I asked. "Really. And don't give me the same BS happy-happy stuff like you do in your emails."

"You know I can't tell you operation details in emails," she said. "I'm a positive person—therefore, you're getting happy-happy."

I snorted. "Yeah, okay. You got me there. But seriously."

She contemplated a piece of bread for a moment before sticking it into her mouth. After taking a sip of water, she sighed and said, "They're not treating me badly. I have some friends there."

I didn't mention that part of my price for working with the Illusive Man was to know where Abby was at all times. I hadn't immediately set that price out when I first took that job after the Commander died, but after we started talking and I began to realize that, you know, I had feelings for her, I started to ask for tiny updates. The Man might have thought it was strange, or not, but I didn't really care. Abby couldn't put those types of details in a written message, and neither could I. The only clues we could give each other were hints of our emotional wellbeing.

Abby hesitated before saying, "The Captain's on to something. I'm not sure what, but he's hinting we'll be in the Terminus Systems for a while on complete blackout. I won't be able to contact you as frequently."

_But I'll know where you are. I'll know if you're hurt, or in danger. _She was a big girl and could take care of herself, but I worried. "What do you think Sudono is on to?"

"There are rumors circulating about that a former soldier is setting up her own merc band. She's looking for some krogan warlord, except he's not a real warlord—he's some kind of. . . I don't know about this, and I fully give you permission to laugh, but I think he's a scientist."

"Oh, wow."

"Wow's right," she agreed.

I had to think about that for a moment. "_Can_ a krogan get a scientific degree?"

"Not any that I know." She shook her head. "No way. You'd think Wrex would have taken Okeer for himself, and maybe he has. I honestly don't know much about what goes on outside my own assignments these days. Anderson is keeping us locked up tight."

"Wonder why. . . Just you, or the rest of the Fleet?"

"I haven't seen Ash in nearly a year," she said, a frown on her face. "She's making her way up the ranks now. Sent me an email the other week apologizing for being antisocial, whatever, and wants to meet up for drinks on the Citadel in two weeks, when she's next off. Lucky. I ship out a week before that."

"Wait a moment." I'd only caught one fragment of that sentence. A wolfish grin fluttered over my face. "You have a week off?"

"Surprise."

I laughed and kissed her hand. "So, since you're off for a week, you'll need a place to stay, right?"

"Yes. . . are you offering?"

"Are you accepting?"

"Sure. I kind of brought my bags in my rental car anyway."

"Uh-huh."

"I read a funny quote once, a long time ago. '_Friends call in advance, best friends walk right in and raid the fridg_e.'"

"Oh, come on, I thought we were past that part. Aren't we?"

She smiled, ducking her head. "If you want to be."

"You know I do. What about you? I'm not going too fast, am I?" Over a year was too slow, in my opinion, but I know that other people have their own definitions of personal space. And after eavesdropping on Shepard's conversation with Ashley about her sister Sarah palming her boyfriend's head into a tree, I wasn't taking any chances.

"No, not too fast at all," she said softly, looking up. "I want to be past that part, too."

"Oh, well, good then." There was a warm feeling in my stomach that had nothing to do with indigestion. "I, uh, really like you."

"And I really like you, too."

"Great. Now that we're all touchy-feely, is this where the first kiss comes in?"

"I do believe so."

"Great. I knew those Google searches never come out wrong."

We leaned across the table, and I was suddenly nervous. What if I bit her tongue off by accident? I made sure my elbow was nowhere near my Coke. Luckily, the table was small, and we didn't have to lean very far. Our lips touched, soft and sweet, and I detected the smell of oranges on her lips. We let go, and suddenly she started giggling like a little girl.

I snorted. "I wasn't _that_ bad," I complained.

"No, no," she laughed. "You were really, really good."

And she leaned in for another kiss.

"There may be one slight issue with the sleeping arrangements," I said after we broke off again. "'Cos, you know, I'm kind of just one guy and I don't have very many sleepovers. But since we're passing the best friends-stage, I guess it really doesn't matter, but just, er, say if it does, alright?"

"It's a double-bed?"

"Yeah."

Her answer was an embarrassed, "I don't mind."

"Oh, well, that's good." I barked out a relieved laugh and kissed her hand. "Just had to get that out of the way, there, so you don't feel like I'm... _pressuring_ you or anything."

"Oh, no, I'd say I really. . . _like_ that idea."

Was the blood rushing to my face? I was feeling pretty damn red here. "Oh, good. Look, we, uh, better figure out what we're going to eat. Choose anything, it's all on me."

"I can pay for my food, don't be silly--"

"I make more than I used to. Won't even dent the paycheck, I swear."

She stared at me suspiciously. "I really don't--"

"Abby, just relax." I smiled. "Take something for free for once, okay?"

Part of me was hoping that she wouldn't order anything _too_ expensive, though, like that $2000 bottle of wine supposedly bottled in the winter of 2009. I had to squint a bit to read the print in the menus, but eventually we both settled on what we wanted. I chose the cheapest wine on the list to celebrate our good news and the next step.

"You know, I can barely remember the last time I was off of a ship for more than three days of shore leave," she mused, sipping at the wine. "This will be interesting. I wonder what we can do."

The Illusive Man had already pinged me the day before, stating that I had a week off, too. He was doing a great job of keeping his little subjects happy. "Let's go be a normal couple," I suggested. "No Reapers, no Alliance, just you and me and whatever we think up."

"That sounds really good," said Abby. She tilted her glass in my direction. "Cheers."

The waiter returned a short while later with our food and we dug in with gusto. I was surprised I actually liked it, and Abby's looked _good._ There were no leftovers. During the entire meal we joked and fussed around, and I kept examining her hands and arms as she ate. They were lithe and muscular, covered with small, light-blonde hairs that blended seamlessly into her skin. There was a small scar on her left index finger and calluses on her hands. She noticed me looking. "Did my food look that good?" she asked sarcastically.

"Yeah. I'm still hungry."

"No way."

"Just kidding. I was checking out your hand. Where did you get that scar at?"

"I was attacked by a pig," she said deadpan. I blinked. "No, seriously! So me and Sarah were just walking through the woods one day and we found this pig, right? It was the biggest piggy I've ever seen, and it had this coarse black hair. . ."

She went on and on, explaining how they returned with food for the pig. She had ham, cut up into tiny cubes, and hand-fed him. It liked the ham so much it tried to take her finger with it, leaving a glossy white scar just above the middle joint.

"You fed a pig ham."

"You'd be surprised what pigs eat."

"Ham."

"Yes. And a finger."

"But he never actually digested the finger."

"No. . . but he got a nice taste."

"Did it get infected?"

"Oh, please, I never get sick."

"Lucky," I muttered.

But I could walk her to her car, and I loved it. With one arm over her shoulder, and her arm wrapped around my waist, I felt like a normal person for once in my life. It was a feeling I'd only been able to get in the cockpit, and now? Now, I think I could take a fall without breaking something. I felt stronger, physically and mentally. I wore a lighter, more resistant form a leg-braces underneath my pants, but I could barely feel them.

The Illusive Man did a great job of keeping his subjects happy. I wasn't going to overly-thank him, though. Better that he didn't know what it meant to me, just to be safe.

I never forgot about Shepard, though, not for one second. It was his sacrifice that enabled me to do this, to be able to walk and hold my girl like just another guy. She pressed her soft body against mine, hugging me before she got in her car with a promise to follow me home since she didn't know where I lived. She slipped off the dressy shoes as soon as she was in, going barefoot. I could suppress the smile on my face and limped back to my own vehicle.

Shepard was a great guy. And even if we weren't much further along to finding the Reapers than we were when I joined Cerberus, I knew we'd find something sooner or later. And now I had two things to fight for—Shepard and Abby. It was a good feeling.

Okay, being able to walk made me more touchy-feely than usual, and it showed as soon as I got in to the car. My throat constricted and I felt my tongue swell up. A few dry swallows took care of it, and I led Abby to my apartment.

She insisted on carrying her one small bag herself, and I had to allow it. Somehow I didn't think walking up the stairs with a heavy object would be the best way to test out my bone reinforcements. We laughed and joked on the way up, and she kissed me again as I opened up the door.

"Ah, home sweet home," I said sarcastically, shuffling in. "Come on, I'll make some hot chocolate."

I took longer than necessary making the stuff, listening to her explore my small little abode. When I heard her come back into the living room, I set her mug in front of her and sat down. "It's really good," she said, taking a long drought. "Thank you very much."

"Well, you are _very_ welcome," I said. We looked at each other once and she started giggling again. "Why do you keep doing that?" I asked, concerned. "What, do I have something in my beard?"

"No, it's not that," she said, still smiling. She leaned close and whispered, "I've never had a boyfriend before. It's a new experience."

"Oh, well. . ."

She barked out a laugh. "So I'm pretty excited."

I perked up. "Oh yeah?"

"Very," she assured me.

I was beginning to like the sound of this. "So, you're my girlfriend now."

"And you're my boyfriend."

I was _really_ liking the sound of this. "Now that we've established that. . ."

"Now that we've established that. . ."

"What do we do now?"

"We could play a board game," she suggested.

"We _could. . ._"

"Or. . ."

"_Or. . ."_

"Or we could do something else," she said lightly. She finished her hot chocolate. "I'm going to go take a shower. Do you mind?"

Did I _mind?_ "Hell no. Make yourself comfortable."

"Thanks," she said, and got up. Grabbing her bag, she disappeared into my room, and I was left to sit back and contemplate the running water, very bad thoughts running through my mind.

Abruptly, I got up and entered the bedroom, removing my monkey-suit and changing into a pair of slacks. I took off the leg braces and set them in the corner, next to my crutches. . . and I waited. The door was open a tiny crack to let the steam out. The water soon shut off and I heard her get out of the shower, her wet footsteps on the floor. There was a sound of a zippered bag opening, and I heard the rustle of cloth. "Can you believe it's nearly midnight?" she asked, opening the door so she could see me.

She was dressed in and old pair sweatpants and a tanktop, her semi-wet hair fanning out down her back and over her shoulders. "You look good," I commented, before I could help myself.

She snorted, mopped up the water with her towel, and crawled into bed. "Thank you," she said.

"You don't have to keep thanking me for the compliments, you know. You're hot. Deal with it."

"It's called manners, dear Joker," she teased. "Come on, let's go to sleep. I have an idea for what we can do tomorrow."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, but it will involve getting up early. . ."

"Oh damn, an early assignment."

"Which means it's time for shut-eye. Come on, pilot, shift it."

I grumbled as I got under the blankets with her. This was _very_ suggestive, and I had to reign it in fast before I pulled anything stupid. "Give me a hint," I whispered, wrapping my arms around her.

She was smiling in a contented sort of way, a blush spreading on her cheeks as she snuggled closer. "You'll see," she said.

"Hey, guess what," I said after a moment.

"What?"

"I really, really like you."

"Oh, that's good," she said, "because I really like you, too."

I wasn't sure why I was about to say this, but I suddenly felt like I wanted—no, _needed—_her to know. "Look, you know what I'm doing now is a big secret, right?"

"I think I guessed as much," she said, opening her eyes and tilting her head up to look at me calmly. "And I know who you're working for. I'm not going to say I agree. I mean, I know what's happened in the past with Cerberus, but I trust your judgment. I do. As long as you don't participate in the nastier aspects, that's fine. Cerberus is probably looking in to the Reapers harder than the Alliance actually is, which is not at all. You don't have to square it with me."

"How long. . .? How long have you known? Did I screw up somewhere?"

"No," she said wistfully. "I just know you. Commander Shepard saved your life, and that creates a bond between somebody that you can't really break, you know? Even though the guy is dead, you still want to honor his memory, and you just can't do that with the Alliance."

"Then why don't you quit?" I asked. "Come work with me. Please."

"I can't, Jeff," she said softly. The use of my real name surprised me. "I have to stay on the inside for a while. I need to keep an eye on Ashley."

"You haven't seen her in forever. You're not doing a great job of keeping up with her."

"I know," she muttered. "I'm trying. Ash loved the Commander a lot, and I know _she's_ working hard, too. Until she dies or leaves, I'm going to stay in the Alliance. . . for good or worse. And I can't abandon my crew."

I sighed. I knew that feeling. "I guess you're right. I just wish it was different. The Council should be hailing us like damn heroes, not just—hanging us out to dry like this. It's wrong. It's unfair. After everything we went through--"

She put a hand on my lips. "Stop it," she said firmly. "I know it sucks right now, but we're going to find a way. Got that? We're not going to let the Reapers win. And if the Council gets in our way, we'll pull an Anderson."

"We might have to pull an Anderson _on_ the Anderson," I muttered, disgruntled. "And _he_ knows how to fight."

"And that's why I'll do it," she said.

We were silent for a long time. By the time I finally thought of something to say to that, she was fake-sleeping. Figuring I might as well try, I closed my eyes and tried to forget all this crap and focus on the good, like she kept telling me.

_I have a girlfriend._


	7. Archangel

How can you lose everything and expect to get it back?

**-A distraught Hannah Shepard confides to a friend following her son's KIA status**

* * *

**Omega, Present Day (Aria)**

From the balcony overlooking the club below, I watched those silly people go on their way, dancing, getting drunk, and making a general fool of themselves in full view of the Omega leadership. Trivial beings, all seemingly concerned with favor, with approval, with a pat on the head from the all-powerful, omniscient _Aria_.

You had your power-hungry fools in the corner, socializing with an air of forced cordiality in their stance as they calculated their chances of rising through the meaningless ranks; the gamblers played their games by the tables, hell bent on making a quick profit; those looking for an easy score lingered by the strippers, following their curves with eager longing evident in their hunched shoulders and bright eyes; there were the drunks by the bar, helping themselves to a vial concoction that would ultimately send them towards oblivion; and then the others, the business partners, the young ones, the 'couples' looking for a drug-induced good time.

My sanctuary.

No weapons, of course. All this energy in one place, with so many variables likely to set it off the wrong way, made the no-weapons rule paramount except with my own personal guards. Krogan bouncers looked tough, but it was the elcor you had to worry about: their eyes could see deep into the infrared. It never stopped those fools from attempting to bring in some item of insurance, however, one small thing that would set the entire thing off...

To kill me, or to kill a rival, it didn't matter, and I made perfectly sure that those on my guard detail were unfailingly loyal—mainly by providing them large, fat paychecks. Greed is a running charciteristic, as flamboyant and nefarious as it is anywhere else. Provide them with a big enough incentive, and anybody will love you. Provide them with their lives, and they will love you even more.

Except those one in a million that will surprise you every _damn_ time.

"Moklan says Shepard's on his way," Garka warned, coming up behind me.

So it was the real Shepard, then. Moklan was the de facto head of my guard, loyal to the bone and fiercely protective of myself and my organization. I'd spent a lot of my personal time to make it so: Moklan was one of the deadliest batarians on this asteroid, and one of the smartest. If he said it was Commander Shepard, then it was.

Visions bloomed in front of my eyes of a day very much like this one, when I was forced to hold audience to young Liara T'Soni and her drell accomplice. They were on a mission to retrieve Shepard's body. . . So Shepard _had_ been dead, and now he was back. How?

"His ship's flagged as Cerberus," Grizz added.

"What?" I snapped, finally glancing over at him. He was holding a datapad in his hand. I held out my hand for it and scanned the few brief, terse lines Moklan had scribbled under the double-encrypt. My heartbeat slowed and steadied as I thought this through. "Well, well, it looks like they've been busy. For what purpose?"

I activated a direct link with the batarian bouncer standing guard outside the large doors leading into the Afterlife. "Three people, two men and a female, are coming shortly. You are to let them in, armed." I rattled off a description of the three of them and waited. It took five minutes for Shepard to make contact with him and pass through the entrance.

"Stay here until Moklan gets back," I told Garka in an undertone, following their arrival with my eyes. Poor Shepard wasn't looking all that well; I wondered what kind of experiments Cerberus were pulling on him. His black hair had been shaved off completely, I noted. He glanced up towards my overlooking balcony, orange lines glowing faintly on his skin. I scowled. His companions, a dark-skinned human and a beautiful pale woman with hair so black it blended into the shadows, were looking around, keeping close to the Commander. They both wore Cerberus logos.

They stepped out of my sight as they began to ascend the stairs. I heard three pairs of footsteps pause as they regarded me, staring out at the stripper podiums below, and then one pair detached itself, coming up slowly. "Aria?" Shepard asked.

"Don't come any closer," I warned him. My guards raised their weapons in unison. I motioned with a tilt of my head for Garka to proceed with the scans.

There was a _whirr_ of an activating omni-tool. "Hold still."

"Try it and you'll be scanning the inside of your colon," Shepard snarled.

I actually laughed. "I'd pay to see that," I told him. "But that's not why you're here. If you're going to talk to me, you get scanned."

"All you had to do was ask nicely," he said aggresively.

"I don't ask."

"I heard you're the person to talk to if I have questions."

"They're clean," Garka said.

I turned then, regarding Shepard. I had to admit, despite myself I was curious to see what kind of man he had to be. Long years of practice told me what sight alone could not: He radiated a powerful intensity, even looking as hellish as he did. His eyes were a striking color of bright green, and they held my own without question. He was threatening and powerful physically, but his eyes spoke of a mental willpower so strong that I felt like taking a step back.

It was all in the eyes.

Being telepathic and blessed with biotic ability as we are, asari learn to look past the physical shell and reach out with our minds to get a small inkling of the character beneath. It always started with the eyes, with the words those eyes spoke alone, before any others. I was more skilled at reading than many of my people. That was how I'd taken care of Patriarch, after turning his whole organization against him. That was how I continued to thrive in a place that wished me dead. And now...

Now I had a feeling that if Shepard wanted my position, he'd simply take it. Death wouldn't stop him.

"That depends on the questions," I said firmly.

"You run Omega?" he asked.

I chuckled, staring at him through my eyelashes. I turned around slowly, deliberately, to look at the stripper podiums on the ground floor below us. "I _am_ Omega." I gave him a long, humorless stare and sat down, folding my fingers across my chest. "But you need more. Everybody needs more _something._ And they all end up coming to me. I'm the boss, CEO... _queen_, if you're feeling dramatic. It doesn't matter. Omega has no titled ruler and only one rule: Don't _fuck_ with Aria."

Shepard regarded me carefully. "I have similar rules."

"And on your ship that would matter," I said sharply. "Here, we entertain my preferances."

I gestured for him to take a seat.

"So, what can I do for you?" I asked.

He threw a look at his companions, weighing his words carefully before he spoke. "I'm trying to track down two people. I was thinking you could help me." I didn't speak. "Archangel and Mordin Solus, specifically."

"You're looking for Archangel, too?" I asked. "You and half of Omega. Good luck."

"What's he been up to?"

"_Archangel_ thinks he's fighting on the side of good. It's a misnomer: there is no good side on Omega. Everything he does pisses someone off, and it's finally catching up to him."

"Well, I'm putting a team together. He's on my list."

I allowed an appraising glance. "Interesting. You'll be making some enemies, teaming up with Archangel. That's even assuming you can get to him—he's in a bit of trouble right now."

"What kind of trouble?"

"The local merc groups are recruiting anyone with a gun to help them take out Archangel," I said, a plan beginning to form in my mind. I nearly smiled at the simplicity of it. "They're using a private room for recruiting... just over there." I jerked my chin towards the right stairwell. "I'm sure they'll sign you up."

"You're not in on it?" he asked. "If he's pissing everybody off, why hasn't it pissed you off?"

"Archangel's a smart guy: he's always known to stay away from me," Aria said. "He's got quite the fight on his hands, though. Blood Pack, Blue Suns, and Eclipse pooled together all their resources to take him out. Quite impressive, really, if you're into the whole irony of the situation. He had a team for a while, about ten or so aliens, but Blood Pack tracked them down in the end. Ambushed them all. And now Archangel is the only one left... I'm curious to know how long he can stand the guns firing at him until he feeds himself a bullet just to avoid the torture that's sure to come."

"Why are you giving me all this information?" he asked suspisciously. His eyes glinted dangerously. "Aren't you afraid the mercs will get angry?"

"Are you going to go tell them?" I challenged. "If you're off to save Archangel, then more power to you. But you're not going to get in by parading about it."

"Then how much is this information going to cost me?" he pressed.

I chuckled. "It's free. Consider my services a gift."

"A gift," he echoed. "What did I do to deserve this nice gift, then?"

He'd never know, if I could help it. "Don't ask questions," I told him. "Just take it."

"Alright."

"See? That wasn't so hard. You better get over there soon, though. They're about to pack up."

Shepard's eyes drifted over my shoulder, towards the small door I'd pointed out minutes ago. He stood. "Thanks for the time."

"If you _do_ happen to save Archangel, Shepard," I added, "thank him for me. He never screwed with my organization. The least I can do is send somebody to save him."

"Do you know who Archangel is?" Shepard asked.

"Nobody does. It's a mystery. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

They left, and I closed my eyes. Moklan appeared out of thin air, taking his customary seat on my right side. "Fargut is making trouble again. I had to run him off of Shepard. We might have to take care of him."

"He's an annoyance," I conceeded, "but not a threatening one. Did he know who Shepard was, or was it just random curiousity?"

"Couldn't tell for sure," Moklan muttered. "How the hell did we know Shepard was in Omega space, anyway?"

"Confidential tip-off," I said. "I was offered a lot of credits to take him in to my territory."

"By who?"

"I don't know," I said, disgruntled. "I'm going to be doing some digging, though. Shepard's liable to make more trouble for me than the credits are worth. I want you to jury-rig a protocol that pings us every time he so much as looks in this system, understand?"

"Yes, Aria," Moklan said. He stood and went to take care of it.

Credits were just a means to an end. I didn't care for them and didn't need them to stay happy, but they were practical... and four million of them were just transferred to my account. But I would have taken Shepard in anyway with no cost, if only because he would prove to be useful to me in the future. The other reason went deeper, more personal than that. His green eyes, so intense and calculating, reminded me of-

I had to stop thinking about this.

* * *

**(Joker)**

"What do you mean, you won't be able to contact them?" I asked, twisting around in my seat to glare at EDI. "I thought you were some type of all-access wi-fi node thingy."

"You are incorrect, Mr. Moreau," EDI's soft, feminine voice stated. "I can still be thwarted by unanticipated firewalls and data streams using unfamiliar algorithms. The Blue Suns have communicational-jamming equipment that dwarfs most military institutions. I am currently looking for a way around their system."

"Yeah, great," I muttered, turning back to my controls. "Watch Shepard get in trouble and be like 'Oh, hey, Joker, where the hell were you? Miranda's dead, Jacob's captured by talking varren, and I don't have any pants!'"

"That is not possible," EDI commented. "Varren can not talk, and Commander Shepard is wearing armor, not pants."

"Eh, same difference." Did it _have_ to be so annoying? I was kind of glad it wasn't saying that there was no possible way Miranda could die, though. That was a plus. There was loyalty and then there was obsession. At least Cerberus made their AI's smart enough to tell the difference between them. "The point is, I don't like being out of the loop. When do you think you can tap in to the comms?"

"They have only disabled long-range transmissions. If I can somehow place a node within their protective bubble, I will—ah, it has worked. We can now contact Commander Shepard, and vice versa."

"Great," I muttered. I pulled up tracking information from his suit's computer. "Looks like he's downstairs—_way_ downstairs."

Then, without warning, EDI opened up a direct line. "Shepard, I've scanned the area, but I am unable to plot any other paths to Archangel."

"Guess we're going with the mercs." Shepard sounded resigned, like we'd fallen below what he'd expected.

"The heavy mechs they possess have considerable firepower," EDI continued. "Weakening them before leaving will improve your chances."

* * *

**(Shepard)**

Archangel had a nice fortress set up here, I couldn't help but think. He was holed up on the other side of a bridge, which happened to be the only way across, and he was _busy._ Shots rang out in the still air, its echoes bouncing off of the steel with stattaco _thack-thack_s that made me want to plug my ears. It didn't seem to matter who was shooting, because the mercs were losing and Archangel was still shooting, like it was some strange, enjoyable game only he could comprehend. We jogged, slightly hunched, out of the direct line of fire. He was _racking 'em up_, as the old military saying went.

Aria hadn't been lying: Blood Pack, Eclipse, and Blue Suns were mixed together in this ragtag group, taking cover by hastily-made barricades. Sometimes one would poke his head out at the wrong moment to spray a stream of bullets in Archangel's direction only to be punched backwards by a round moving too fast to see. I passed a _lot_ of dying vorcha.

Jaroth, the salarian leader of the Eclipse, was temperamental and had more things on his mind than a man with glowing orange scars walking unchecked through his area. His loss.

There was a datapad wedged between two stacks of crates that caught my eye, though. I could tell it was still in Sleep Mode by the softly-blinking white light next to the power button. I made a face. Amateaurs. Discreetly, I passed my hand over the general direction of the datapad, activating a retriever program. I waited until we were in another hallway, well away from anybody else, before I checked out the results of the find.

It looked like the Eclipse were planning to move against Aria next. Interesting. I filed that information away for later.

I followed the hallways in to a large, open area, ducking under the barricades as I did so. If Archangel shot me, I had a feeling Miranda would have something to say about that, considering her temper. "So where are these mechs at, EDI?" I murmured.

"I am uploading the coordinates to your omni-tool, Commander Shepard," said EDI. "If you get within physical proximity of the heavy mech, I may be able to sabotage it's IFF."

_I need absolutes here, EDI. _"Copy that."

Miranda unlocked the doors leading in to the main storage section, wiping out the surveillance cameras as she did so. "Quickly, in here," she said, ushering us inside before closing the doors. "EDI, do your work."

I placed my hand on the large heavy mech stacked in the corner—there was only one, thank God—and activated the omni-tool. Rolling numbers, faster than my eyes could comprehend, dashed over the orange holographic screen before winking with a green light and extinguishing itself. "Done," said EDI.

"Good. Let's get out of here."

"Wait, Commander—there's some medi-gel stashed here. I'm grabbing it." Jacob began to stuff small red containers from the top of a large stack of boxes into the black, durable backpack hanging over his shoulders. "You never know, right?"

"Good thinking," said Miranda. "But hurry up—we have no idea if anybody saw us coming in."

"Done. Let's go."

We stepped out, trying not to look overly conspicious about it, but no hostile eyes followed our exit. "Things sure as hell change in two years..." I mused.

"Of course," Miranda said. "But what exactly are you referring to?"

"The mechs. What made the Council sanction them? Why aren't there regulations?"

"After Sovereign's attack on the Citadel C-Sec losses were in record lows," she said. "Hahne-Kedar used to produce them solely for Alliance colonial worlds, but money motivates all; soon enough C-Sec was petitioning the human embassy for a direct trade between the two companies. Hahne-Kedar gets the money, C-Sec gets a share of the mechs. A few weeks into it the company was victim of industrial espoiange and dozens of larger mirror companies popped up. The Council stepped in and put heavy sanctions against their use, but they needed the additional security and everybody knew it. There wasn't much they could do."

"Money motivates all," I echoed, a bad taste in my mouth. "Any groups against it?"

Jacob gave a bark of laughter. "You know it, Commander."

"They've been in assembly for ten years, Commander," Miranda said. "It's only recently they've come under any sort of spotlight."

I knew _that_, obviously. I'd seen a mech demonstration while I'd been training in the N7 program at the Arcturus Station. Ten soldiers against five LOKI mechs and one YMR in the large, simulated battleground we used for mock fights between regiments. Seven men went down to the nonlethal weapons, and the remaining three were battered and sweaty when they finally brought down the threat. It was a giant publicity leap for Hahne-Kedar, though our instructors weren't too happy about the narrow victory. After that, new training regimens against mechs were put into place. I'd only had to modify them slightly to fight the geth.

My communicator pinged. "Commander, looks like Archangel's alone in there," Joker said. "I'm not picking up any life-signs inside that place, bio or synthetic. He's _really_ holding them all off."

"That's basically why we're recruiting him, Joker."

"Good call."

"Anything else?"

"Nothing really, except that you _might_ want to stop the sneaky conversation and get going."

"They're mobilizing for attack," EDI clarified.

I shut off the line and nodded across the way where you could just see, illuminated by an orange light, our next target. "Jacob, Miranda—fan out, act casual. Keep your lines open."

"Yes, Commander."

"Yes, sir."

In the end, my job was really too easy.

* * *

"_Just a nice, relaxing day at the beach—shooting bad guys with my boomstick._" Yeah, I understood the feeling. This could have been Virmire all over again, going behind enemy lines—quite literally, in fact—to reach an isolated target, where the geth just lined up all nice and proper for us, their backs turned, focused on the bigger threat.

_Captain Kirrahe better be happy, wherever he is. I really hope so._

For our plan to be successful, we had to be at the tip of the spear, right behind the first wave but not too far in the back to allow the other mercs to have the remotest chance. There was also the slight issue of having Archangel snipe our heads off before we even had a chance to make our way up, so speed was also going to be very vital. _And when they hear us take out their buddies, we'll be caught between a hammer and nail, make no mistake, _I thought grimly.

I took cover behind a utility box, one of many lined on the sides, and dropped a mine wired to my omni-tool surreptiously behind me. A merc slid into place beside me, already panting, a feral gleam in his hazed-over eyes. "Good night for it."

"The best," I agreed, and shot him.

"Commander, they're setting up an explosive at the base's mouth," Jacob informed me.

"Miranda, can you get a reading on it?"

"No need—it's not even armed properly."

"Rack 'em up."

I glanced behind me and made a break for the other side of the bridge to set down yet another mine. _Time to move, Shepard!_ I switched to my sniper rifle, laying it down flat on the box, and took out the three in front with the best chance to reach Archangel. A few had already made a break for the stairs. I sprinted for the cover of the building and ducked behind a large black couch.

An explosion. Screams. They say the oddest things can jump your memory back days, months, or even years. I wasn't in the battle any longer, and I was floating, floating... Pain, I could remember pain, and the screams. Blood pounding in my ears. Wet liquid dripping into my gasping mouth.

"-Shepard! _Shepard!_"

"I'm here," I answered automatically, dry-swallowing a couple of times to remove the rusty taste from my mouth. I blinked a few times, and the dark, distressing view of the _Normandy _blurred back to the slightly less horrifying sight of mercenaries trying to kill us. "What's up?"

Miranda sounded slightly harassed. "That explosion took out half of the stiarcase leading up to the landing. We'll have to climb. Are you okay?"

"I... spaced out for a moment. Here now."

"Get in front of me, Commander. Jacob, take point."

"No. No, I'm fine." At least, I _thought_ I was. I'd never had a flashback like that before. _Everything was so real._ "Shield status?"

"Still full, the both of us."

Cerberus. They must have given them a substational upgrade to make up for the lack of armor. I glanced up from my cover and confirmed what Miranda had already said. There were no mercs between us and the stairs, but there were a _lot_ behind us, and even the window-lickers must have realized that we weren't exactly on their side.

A streak of white darted past me. I twisted around to watch Miranda walk up the rubble of the former staircase like a pro, jumping upwards to grasp the fragile edge with strong, formidable fingertips. With the strength of her arms alone she pulled herself up and ducked beneath the railing. A tense moment, then: "A few proximity mines, but I've disabled them. Jacob, help the Commander up."

I wasn't sure I could make the movement look as graceful as Miranda, but I sure as hell wasn't going to tell her that. "Belay that. Taylor, cover me."

"Yes, sir."

I took a starting _jog_, holstering the pistil at my hip as I tried to plot my way upwards. I could see Miranda's pale face looking at me with distaste, a slight shimmering of the air around her.

I'd been a victim of biotic attacks enough in my life to know the difference between a bone-crushing slam in the ass and a helpful hand up. Though this was clearly the latter, I was hard put not to react the way I'd been trained and deflect the force towards another object like I'd had to do in the past.

I soared the extra meter and a half through the air and landed heavily next to Miranda. "Warn me if you have to do that again," I said, glancing out of cover towards the sound of gunfire. "Taylor, you're next. Think you can make it?"

"Are you kidding?" I couldn't tell if that was a negative or a positive. A few more shots from his position and he launched himself upwards. I caught his elbow and hauled him up. Laying on his back, he appraised Miranda with an amused look on his face. I couldn't even begin to fathom whatever joke was going on between them. "Time to get Archangel, I think, Commander."

The door leading to Archangel's hole was well-guarded by a variety of turian-manufactored devices. I stooped to examine an almost-invisible mine in the corner, wondering...

"Commander, I'm about to bust the door. Take cover."

I motioned Miranda towards the mine. "I've seen this before."

She stared at it. "Relevance?"

"It's a jury-rig I've only seen one person use before. See the energy composition? That's Tali's work. She's the-"

"-quarian we met on Freedom's Progress," Miranda finished. "Are you _sure,_ Shepard?"

_Archangel appeared about two years ago. Turian. Sniper. Tactician. Hits the bad guys where it hurts. Acquired Tali's technology._

It was almost too easy. I hit my omni-tool and opened up an old, old frequency. "Glad to see you, Garrus."

The locks to the door detached, and almost instantaniously the traps disarmed. Miranda's mouth had opened in a slight 'o' of surprise and trying not to allow the smirk cross my face _too_ much, I waved my hand in front of the door. A green activation light shone, granting me access.

Archangel, armed to the teeth, stared down a long, heavily-modded sniper rifle of human design. The back of him was all we could see, as he was facing the balcony that gave him an all-encompassing view of the bridge we'd just crossed. He raised one clawed finger, gesturing for us to wait patiently, and adjusted his aim like an expert—which he was. His finger squeezed off a shot, the recoil barely noticeable, and he paused for a full three seconds before withdrawing. He set the sniper rifle aside and flicked a switch on the wall: strong, hardened glass of an alien design slid over the open window just as a bolt thudded into it with an unsatisfying _pink. _It barely even cracked it.

He turned. "Shepard..."

"Garrus!" I crossed over and hugged my old friend. "We've come to bust you out."

Garrus removed his helmet, showing a face I could've recognized in a sea of turians. _Of course, not all of them look so surprised. _"Of all the people to find me... it had to be _you_," he said in wonderment.

"Of all the people to get in this mess, it had to be _you_," I countered.

"Shepard—you're _dead._"

"I was. I'll explain later. Right now, we need to get you out. Status report."

Garrus evaluated me for a full three seconds, and I was suddenly aware of how much _older_ he looked. He'd seen a lot of battles since the _Normandy's_ destruction. He took a seat on a box, unconcerned about the multitude of bullets pounding the window pane, and just stared at me. I looked back at him expectadly, keeping my thoughts to myself.

"Let's start out easy," I said. "How the hell did you piss off every merc band on Omega?"

"It wasn't easy." There was a trace of humor in his voice. "I _really_ had to work at it... my superiors at C-Sec would be proud."

"You've been through hell."

"It looks like we both have. Once we get out of here, we'll swap stories."

"We will," I agreed, moving towards the window. "Nice tech. You been set up here for a while?"

"A year and a half. We renovated it, added some black market items. This is the same type of glass they use for the Council's windows back on the Citadel."

I whistled. "Nothing short of a Reaper will break through it. We should know. What about the rest of the base?"

"I disarmed most of them as soon as I saw you land. I haven't been sitting here waiting all these years, Shepard. I have spy cams set up all over this _district._ Soon as I realized it was you I keyed your energy readings into the exempt list. _You_ don't have anything to worry about. Nice job sabotaging the gunships and the mechs, by the way. I was sure I'd need Tali for it or something, but..." He shrugged, but I could tell he was pleased. Perhaps even more pleased than I was, but afraid to admit it. "There are a variety of turrets set up _behind_ the lines, too."

"Looks like paranoia kept you safe," Jacob mused.

"There was a batarian on our team. Could hack through anything, given the time. Most of the security arrangements were _his_ idea... not that I'm complaining." He nodded towards the window. "But I can't take them all out alone. I've been holding out so well so far because of this crap, but I'm low on everything. You came just in time... as always."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

"Did you get an overview of their plans?"

I nodded, then explained the main idea I'd been given when I landed.

"We'll hold out," Garrus muttered, stroking the barrel of his sniper rifle. He glanced out the window. "Looks like the first wave's coming. Just like old times."

I stared out the window with distaste, ignoring the _ping_s of bullets on glass. "Suppose we better take care of the mechs..."

"And here comes the heavy..."

The heavy hit the bridge with a thud and assembled itself. I watched, not really that interested, as it turned on it's fellows. "Bring up the window, Garrus. Lay low and take a rest. We have this."

He looked like he hadn't slept in a while. _A soldier takes what rest he can. _But, to my surprise, he said, "Window's going up, but I can't sleep. I'll sit here and take them out from up here. Deal?"

"There's no time to argue. If you think you're still up to it, we'll cover you..." I glanced back at Miranda and Jacob, a half-formed plan forming in my mind. "You two go downstairs and cut them off if any get past us."

They left, and I lined up with my sniper. "New crew," Garrus commented, squeezing off a shot. "I kind of preferred the old one more."

"Me, too." I sighted up on the salarian captain, Jaroth, as he poked his head from the crate I'd been using earlier. The YMR mech immediately took a bead on him and he ducked back again. I moved on to other, more pleasing targets. "I know this is a tiny bit _odd_ right now. I promise I will explain everything when we get to the ship."

"The ship... new one?" Garrus hadn't been on the _Normandy_ when I died, I recalled. He'd been accepted back into C-Sec and was trying to lock horns with the upper echelon.

"New one," I agreed. "And even better."

"You're working for Cerberus. I saw their logos. You _know_ what they're like."

I squeezed off a few more shots. "A human-centric, biodegradable, insane group of geniuses. They haven't changed, except that we're on the same side now. The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

"You saw what they did to Kahoku."

I pursed my lips. "Yes."

"You wouldn't do this unless you had a reason," Garrus said, softer now, as if he were speaking to himself. "I can't even think of anything that would make you take their side... except I suppose they took _yours_. Damn."

"Shepard!" Jacob sounded harassed. "That mech isn't going to last much longer. Miranda and I are going to push it across the barrier before it goes boom, but those things have a bigger impact if they die from a headshot. Have your buddy put a round through it's optics when you see a chance."

"Affirmative."

"Cover me," said Garrus, carefully adjusting his aim. I sniped at a few of the stragglers and paused to reload. The heavy mech lifted into the air as if pulled by an invisible gravity well, gliding foreword and over the barrier. I could hear surprised screams. Garrus fired. The mech dropped. "Blast window going up."

I heard the explosion from outside, but didn't feel it. I supposed that was good. I looked up. The mercenaries and LOKI mechs were scattering, though the latter continued their assault like nothing had happened. Jacob and Miranda made short work of them, but Jaroth was still alive out there... somewhere.

I saw his head appear over the crates. I didn't even pause to think about it—I activated my omni-tool and sent out a command activating the blasting mine I'd placed underneath him just a few minutes ago. He soared through the air, his limbs reaching out to grasp at anything that would keep him up, his mouth open in a scream I couldn't hear. He hit the ceiling _hard_, then crashed down on the bridge railing. He fell off to the side, disappearing in the depths below.

"Looks like they've retreated," Garrus said, stating the obvious. "That was much easier than I was expecting. I could almost get used to you being alive again, Commander."

_Only almost?_ _Turians._ "_Now_ I remember why I felt that slight doomsday impression when I realized it was you, Vakarian—you invariably piss off any major criminal organization within a one-hundred mile radius."

"We still have two more to go," he said, jogging over towards a group of bunk beds to check a holographic display I hadn't noticed before. His fingers flew over the keys, executing sudo commands I didn't recognize. "_Thank you_, Tali," he muttered to himself, frowning intently at the readout displays. "I'm activating the turrets at sporadic intervals, but only to take out the barrier guys... looks like Blood Pack's moved out, and the Blue Suns are mobilizing. Blue Suns are the worst, but the Blood Pack... they're formidable. Their leader, Garm? I cornered him at his base. He was completely alone. I thought I could do it, but I've never seen a krogan regen that fast. I only escaped by a hair... and they still tracked me here."

"Even the best mess up sometimes," I told him, coming over the study the display. I could see the various camera views swirling around in a mess of interconnectivity that it seemed only turians could comprehend. From what I saw, his info was accurate. "You ever think to install security below in the tunnels?"

"I've sealed the door, but that's it," said Garrus. "There are three doors we'll need to lock manually, but once they're locked they're _locked._ We won't be able to escape that way."

"I'll get it done," I promised. I hit the comlink. "Miranda, get up here and give Garrus a hand. Taylor, we're heading to the lower levels to ward off the Blood Pack."

Garrus looked up, a frown on his alien features. "You sure? I don't want to leave you a member short-"

"We'll be fine." I winked. "Trust me."

"If I could count the number of times you've said that and things went to hell..."

"The number would be zero." I jogged away, collapsing my sniper rifle and drawing out my pistil. "Virmire... that doesn't really count. We got the job done." _Did I really just say that? _Kaiden_ got the effing job done, not me. It couldn't have gone off in time without him. _"Stay in touch. Old frequency, got it?"

I didn't wait for a reply and offered a helping hand to Miranda as she climbed up the rubble that was once a nice-looking staircase. She ignored it and took a good look at me in the eyes. "I'll keep him safe, Commander."

"Do the best you can. I'd feel kind of cheated if he died on me now."

Garrus snorted.


End file.
